PS 635 



87925 >OTTER'S FIELD; 

Copy 1 



OR 



A TRAGEDY IN FIVE ACTS. 



By ARISTOPHANES. 



When Greek meets Greek, then comes the tug of war." 



CALIFORNIA EDITION. PRICE, 35 cts. 



San Francisco: 

A. L. BANCROFT & COMPANY, Printers, 721 Market Street. 

1873. 



\ 



POTTER'S FIELD; 



OR 



THE 6EITLEIUI WITH THE BLACK HUM 



A TRAGEDY IN FIVE ACTS. 



By ARISTOPHANES. 



" When Greek meets Greelc, then conies the tuff of war." 



CALIFORNIA EDITION. PRICE, 35 cts. 







San Francisco: 

A. L. BANCROFT & COMPANY, Printers, 721 Market Street. 
1873. 






<^/vthu&Q<JVfU£. 



Entered accordinglto Act of Congress, in the year 1873, 

By ARTHUR BOYIN, 

In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 



TMP92-008686 



INTRODUCTORY 



A youth of quality, heir apparent to titles and estate, weds a 
poor orphan girl, and thereby incurs his parents' high displeas- 
ure. Unaided, and spurning the asking, he struggles manfully 
in the battle for bread. The wife whom he loves succumbs to 
want and disease, and during his absence from London, she 
dies and is buried in Potter's Field. This event operates a revul- 
sion in his moral sentiments. A skejutic, he is a disbeliever in 
the virtue of humankind. A cynic, he is a hater of men. This 
morbid humor carries on a predatory warfare on his better 
instincts. He hates society, not purely by reason of an imagin- 
ary wrong he has suffered, but because he nourishes a spleen 
which must find a vent. He smarts from the lashes, which Lie 
is pleased to believe society has inflicted on him ; he is a leveler, 
but of a type that takes wretchedness for the standard of levels. 

He emigrates to parts unknown. Becomes immensely wealthy, 
but by what magic, the reader is given the choice of conjectures. 
Incognito, he returns to London, where, through the further 
development of the practical workings of his philosophy, all his 
undertakings are crowned with signal success. He lays his 
plans to harass and destroy the rich. How he succeeds in this, 
and in what manner the drama terminates, will be seen in the 
latter part of Act V. and the last. 

Every act is embellished in the last scene by spectacular dis- 
plays, which, however, are not absolute to the completeness of 
the piece. The drama transpires in England — except the spec- 
tacular scenes, which are -suppositive. 



DRAMATIS PERSONAL. 



Hubert. Fitz Simmons: The gentleman with the black humor. 

Mag.: Wife of Hubert, buried in Potter's Field. 

Sir John Fitz Simmons, Bart. : Father ot Hubert. 

Lady Fitz Simmons: Wife of Sir John in second wedlock. 

Nellie: Daughter of Hubert and Mag. 

Drusilla Stoughtenborough : j Children to Lady Fitz S. by a 

Godfrey Stoughtenborough : j former marriage. 

Miss Mack: A maiden lady and a friend of Lady Fitz Simmons. 

Grospotrine: A materialist and a bon vivant. 

Mincebeck: An idealist, and very thin. 

Andrew Jackson: Colored servant to Hubert. 

Dennys, Matthew, Dobbins, Bridget, Priscilla: Servants to 
Sir John. 

Bolingbroke : Lesse of Drury Lane Theater. 

Martin: Stage manager. 

Dogberry : A star actor. 

Morino : An adventurer and a dangerous character. 

Ferguson: An Irish gentleman, agent to an emigrant society. 

Estella: Niece to Ferguson; afterward a ballet girl. 

Miss James. A friend of Mag. 

Citizens, Sailors, Constables, Judges, Lawyers, Secreta- 
ries, Villagers, Newsboys, Grave Diggers, Physicians, 
Beggars, Members of M. 0. 0. L., Cyclops, Imps and 
Demons, Coryphees and Reptiles, etc. 



SYNOPSIS OF SCENERY. 



ACT I. 

Scene I. — Willow Brook. 

" II.— The Weddiug. 

" III. — The " Poor Man's Paradise." 

" IV. — Who marries the Prince, and who the Beggar ? 

" V. — Tinkers and Apollo! 

" VI.— The Police Court. 

" VII.— The adieu. 

" VIII. — (Spectacular.) The "Anvil Chorus." 

ACT II. 
Scene 1. — The Fitz Simmons Mansion. 
" II. — The hall in the Mansion. 
" III.— Pottersfield. 
" IV. — (Spectacular.) Pactolus. 

ACT III. 

Scene I. — Ocean View. 

" II. — The Beach (Ocean View.) 

" HI. — (Same as Scene III, Act I, with modifications.) 
" IV. — At Mr. Bolingbroke's, lessee of Drury Lan-3 Theahr 
" V. — (Spectacular.) The "Inferno." 

ACT IV. 

Scene I. — Hubert Fitz Simmons' office in Lombard street. 
" II. — Cascatelle. 
" III.— (Spectacular.) Catacombs of the M. 0. O. L. 

ACT V. 
Scene I. — (Same as Scene I, Act IV.) 
" II. — A London Thoroughfare. 
" lit.- -(Same as Scene I, Act II.) 
" IV. — (Same as Scene III in Act III.) 
" V. — (Spectacular.) Grand March of the Angels. 



POTTER'S FIELD; 



The Gentleman with the Black Humor. 



ACT I. 

Scene 1st. Willow Brook, (a country district on the confines of 
Wales.) In the background is a river ( Willow Brook), the 
same bordered with willows. 

Dramatis Per so) ice: Hubert Fitz Simmons. Marguerite (Mag.) 
(a country lass of Willow Brook.) Dennys (domestic to Hubert.) 

Mag. (on the- further bank of the stream washing.) She sings: 
" I dreamt that I dwelt in marble halls," etc., etc. 

[She stops singing as she perceives Hubert. Enter Hubert and do- 
mestic on the nearer side of the stream. Hubert carries fishing tackle, 
and the domestic, a basket. ] 

Hubebt (aside.) You beautiful little Mag.! I love that girl. 

Dennys (who suspects something is in the wind. ) My lord, that's 
the maid of the inn. She is betrothed to marry. 

Hubert. Betrothed! to whom? 

Dennvs. To the village school master. 

Hcbebt. Are you sure? 

Dennys. Sure as it is good for any one to be of things doubt- 
ful. A woman is never betrothed, my lord. 

Hubert (to Mag.) Mag.! Oh, Mag.! 

Mag. Ah, my lord? 

Hubert. Any fish on that side of the river? 

Mag. My suds drive fish away. 

Hubeet. Your song draws them. 

Mag. (laughing.) Not fish. 



8 POTTERS FIELD. 

Hubert. I want to fish on that side. Can I cross over? 

Mag. The water runs deep, my lord. 

Hubert. Do you know of any ford near by ? 

Mag. A mile below, the channel spreads out and the water 
becomes shallow; a shorter distance above us is the bridge. 

Hubert. Then it is two miles by land, or a leap by wider? 
(To Dennys.) Can you swim, Dennys? (Dennys shakes Ins head 
negatively.) 

Mag. Here is a boat, if it was only on your side. 

Hubert. It's a boat on either side. Dennys, suppose you 
go for the boat? 

Dennys. I never took to water. Indeed, my lord, I can't 
swim. Shall I go by the bridge? 

Hubebt. Go! (Exit Dennys.) 

Hubert. Mag. ! Oh, Mag. ! 

Mag. My lord? 

Hubert. I have something to say to you. 

Mag! What is it, my lord? 

Hubert. It should be whispered. Shall I swim over? 

Mai;. Wait for Dennys and the boat, my lord. 

Hubert. I won't wait! (Goes to the tatter's edge.) 

Mai;, (alarmed.) Don't, my lord; don't for gracious sake, 
you'll drown; the river is deep. I'll bring the boat to you. 

[She unmoors the boat and comes over to the nearer bank. Hubert 
lielps her out. and leads her to the front of the scene.'] 

Hubert. Mag. ! Oh, Mag. ! 
Mag. My lord? 
Hubert. I love you. 

Mag. This is kind, my lord. I am an orphan and a child of 
charity. It is kind to love the fatherless. 
Hubert. Mag., I would marry you. 
Mag. (pensive.) I am engaged, my lord. 
Hubert. Mag., I can't live and you be another's. 

[They both have moved slowly away, and are partiallg concealed 
by the s'nl' scenes, where they go through a dumb shmc of courtship. 
lie-enters Dennys on further side of the stream.] 

Dennys {solo loq.) Yes, bedad! The river has turned round, 
and here I am on the other side again. Talk to me of keeping 
sexes apart — gammon ! Water can't do it; nor fire; nor thorough- 
bred domestics, either. What will the governor say? Ah! (per- 
ceives Hubert and Mag. through tin 1 trees) there they are, sure 
enough; cooing and hugging, and both as serious as the holy 
sacrament. What will the governor say? It's me that'll be re- 
sponsible. I would cross over and stop that, but — the water is 
the difficulty. (He cries out) Hallo, my lord! Hallo! (Aside) 
Sit it easy, then. (Sits on the river bank.) 



POTTER S FIELD. \) 

[Hubert and Mag. both re-appear on the front of the stage.] 

Hubert. Then from my heart must I drive hope away. 
Alas! Farewell, Mag., and Mag. (he kisses her) — forget. (Exit 
Hubert. ) 

Dennys (aside.) Tush — a woman forget! 



Scene II. Village of Willow Brook. In the back-goound is 
the village church. 

Dramatis Persona;: Hubert, Mag., Dennys, Bridesmaids, 
Villagers, etc. 

[ The nuptial march, led by a fiddler. is seen defiling through the 
street into the church. At the head walk, Hubert and Mag., as bride 
and bridegroom; bridesmaids and villagers follow. At the left of the 
scene stands Dennys; at the right are two villagers.] 

Dennys (solo log.) He is bound for it now, and what will the 
governor say? (Goes and brings up the rear. Exit.) 

1st Villager (to 2d Villager.) Aint she beautiful? 

2nd V. She makes a lovely bride. 

1st V. They say the bridegroom makes mighty free with the 
papa's money. He has presented each of the bridesmaids a pair 
of white kid gloves. He must be very rich (the old man.) 

2d V. A rich papa and prodigal son. 

1st V. Prodigal of what, kids? But hasn't he the prettiest 
lass in Willow Brook? 

2d V. What earthly business has a young nobleman to es- 
pouse a peasant girl? They say the old man is stiff. I feel sorry 
for the schoolmaster. 

1st V. Why sorry? 

2d V. She was betrothed to him. They were to have been 
married by harvest. 

1st V. People on the marry shouldn't wait for harvest nor 
seed-time either. 

2d V. Procrastination is defeat. Poor boy, 'tis too bad. 

1st V. Where is the schoolmaster? I haven't seen him to- 
day. 

'2d V. I saw him this morning at break o' day. He carried 
a small valise in one hand, and a walking stick in the other. I 
saw him take the turn-pike to London, and, as he reached the 
top of the hill, he stopped, and looked down on Willow Brook; 
after a moment, he walked away, and soon disappeared from 
view. 

1st V. Now, do you know the fellow is wrong to take it hard? 
I think my lord does him much honor. He can say a baronet's 
wife was his betrothed. 

2d V. Poor satisfaction that, neighbor. I'll bet the drinks 



10 potter's field. 

at the 'Deershorns,' my lord will hear from him on this side of 
eternity. 

1st V. Let us go for the drinks anyhow; time enough to de- 
cide who has lost. (Exeunt villagers.) 

[Nuptial procession defiles out of the church, and disappears 
through the side scenes.] 

Dennys (bringing up the rear. So!, loq.) He has dons it, be 
dad, and what will the governor say? 



Scene 3d. (Two years after): London, Houndsditch. A 
cheap tenement, furnished in a neat, but plain style. A side 
door opening in a sleeping apartment, and another down on 
the stair-case. 

Dramatis persona': Hubert Fitz Simmons seated at a desk, writ- 
ing. Mag., his wife, just entering. 

Hubert (to Mag.). Could you find no salt in all London? 

Mag. If it were only question of salt, I should have been 
back long since. That grocer is getting more and more im- 
pertinent every day. He has always to deliver himself of a 
speech before he waits on you. Yesterday it was on poor poets; 
to-day it is on bad debts. I won't go there any more. He says 
that little bill must be paid. 

Hubekt. Paid it must be. But people must be hopeful. I 
am hopeful. Job was hopeful and patient, and Elihu harangued 
him ; yet, had not Job asked of him speeches, or salt, or ought? 

Mag. (in astonishment). The egg still in the pot! 

Hubert. Only thirty minutes. Literature and a bad egg. 
Confound the salt. Confound the egg. I'll eat it unsalted. I'll 
eat it haid; shell and all. I'll eat the hen that laid it; the cock 
that begot it; the nest it was laid in. But, for digestion's sake, 
a little quiet in the midst of high inspirations. Save the egg for 
Easter. It'll keep; so will my appetite. 

Mag. Hubert, you are not well (draws near to him). Tell me. 
What is the matter with Hubert? You work so constantly that 
it injures your health. Take some rest. You can't hold out 
long in this course. Let us leave this hateful town, and take 
ourselves to Willow Brook, where you first saw and loved me. 
Hubert, it makes me sad to see you thus. Oh, why did you not 
spurn the peasant girl of Willow Brook? then might you now be 
received of your kindred, and with the rich be counted and con- 
sidered. 

Hubert (rising, and clasping Mag. in his arms). Grieve not 
for me, Nellie, but for the rich; for they are poor indeed. I will 
work; by night and by day I will strive. My muse will stir 
heaven and earth : for love gives eloquence ; and misery, the 



potter's field. 11 

pathos of sentiment. Mag. shall be queen among the elite — 
will I love my Mag. the more? The envious, the sycophants, 
the adulators she shall have made, I will spurn as they would- 
now the girl of Willow Brook. Cheer up, Mag.! We shall yet 
be considered. It is here, iu the metropolis, that high postions 
are to be made. 

[Sits down at the table with his manuscript before, him.'] 

Mag. I would I could think so, but I can't. What has been 
our experieucein London? A chapter of hardships and humilia- 
tions. 

Hubert. My pet, your observation is hardly considerate. I 
will own to the hardship, but not to the humiliation. The poet 
should remember, that laurels encircle his brow though hunger 
besiege his belly. 

Mag. Hubert, I hope I have not offended. I know I am but 
an insentiinental, iuappreciative and weak woman; but, when I 
look on Nell's pitiful baby face, something then says to me: 
" Mamma, press me to your heart, for cold is the world without, 
and where shall baby nestle when mama's bosom shall have lost 
its warmth?" Oh, if your rich father would only look on our 
poor, little innocent, his heart would be softened; for he loved 
you once, Hubert. Have you not told me so? (Mag. ci'ies.) 

Hubert (Rising and drawing near to Mag.) And he loves me 
still. He chafes for the social considerations and the step- 
woman he married, that forbid his taking our Nellie in his arms 
and invoke my dead mother's sacred name and shed tears. He 
is proud, Nellie; yet will he repent that pride. He shall repent 
it. Darling, wipe away those naughty tears. (He icipes away 
her tears with her handkerchief.) The future looms bright in our 
horizon. Don't worry: it unnerves me to see you worry. Provi- 
dence is for him that will trust and dare. I will trust and dare 
everything, when your happiness and baby's future require dar- 
ing and trusting. 

Mag. Heaven knows I never doubted of your courage, 
Hubert. 

Hubert. And, Nellie, you don't take iu account the great 
work which has now occupied me this twelve month. "The 
Poor Man's Paradise " is nearly ready for the printer. In an age 
signalized by profound ideas, it can't fail of securing for itself 
the approbation of a reflecting public. Talent will beget fame: 
fame will beget fortune. 



[The baby is heard crying. Exit Mag.~\ 



Hubert (solo loq.) Then up and be doing. If talent lurks 
within (pointing to the intellectual 7'egion), out with it. Prove 
merit, I say, or forever suffer meekly and in silence, at the hand 
of fortune's favorites, the contumely ever attached to him that 



12 potter's field. 

fails. (He moves toward the table.) In the "The Poor Man's 
Paradise" rests my salvation. If wretchedness be an essential 
-condition to the development of talent, assuredly that condition 
is mine. Blindness and penury brought forth " Paradise Lost." 
Shakspeare festered for a stolen buck ere the Muses and the 
virgin Queen deigned to smile upon him. Burns breathed his 
melodies in the very furrow which be trod barefoot. Byron's 
spleen produced " Childe Harold," when, hated and hating, he 
had left his native hearth forever. Dante, weeping for his lost 
Beatrice, breathed his immortal vision ; and who says that this 
(bringing his hand down on the MSS.) will not electrify the world? 
Here lies the fruit of the suppressed heaving of the breast; of 
others' promises to me yet unfulfilled; of fair expectations never 
by me realized; of mortifications endured; of hunger unappeased 
— yet has love to my fellow-creatures; yet has faith that a mer- 
ciful Providence watches over the destinies of the just, of the 
humble, of the poor, dictated every line, weighed every sentence, 
measured every ending. The subject is ethereal, the style natu- 
ral, the words well chosen. Can it be possible that a Christian 
civilization has no call for the poesy of the soul ? O, no, it can- 
not be, it cannot be. 

{_Sits down to the tuble and writes. Clem. Ferguson appears on 
the door-sill. ] 

Hubert.— Come in, Mr. Ferguson; always welcome, neighbor. 

Feeguson {entering.) How is Mr. Fitz Simmons, and Mrs. 
Fitz Simmons, and the baby, and "The Poor Man's Paradise?" 

Hubeet. All well, I thank you, and "The Paradise" is born. 

Ferg. Luck to it, and luck to the author for a safe delivery. 
Estella! (calling his niece. Enters Estelia.) Hurry down and 
bring up a bottle of porter. (Exit Estella.) We'll drink a toast 
to the new-born. 

Hubert. While we wait for the beer, permit mo to read the 
opening stanza to "The Poor Man's Paradise." (Reads.) 

"de pbofuxdis. 

Out of the depths, in the abyss profound! 
A voice, intoned, absolute, increate! 
Bids Chaos. And Chaos — " 

Feeg. (interrupting.) Beg pardon. You should have been 
Oirish, Hubert; candidly, you English haven't the mother-wit of 
the Oirish. We excel in mother-wit. Mother- wit, you know, is 
the sauce piquante, as the French say, of literature. You are too 
sentimental. A man must walk abreast with his age, and as the 
age walks, so must he. Thus you will see a man, your inferior 
in ability, in attainments, elbowing and snubbing you as he 
goes, and deliberately ensconce himself in your ancestral arm- 



potter's field. 13 

cliair, while yon take a standing ticket behind. Believe me, 
Hubert, I have seen something of the world and I have always 
seen honest sentiment buckle the shoes to mother-wit. Senti- 
ment is good, but sentiment lacking mother-wit is an incubus to 
him that has it. For illustration, you have written a poem 
(notices Estella icith the bottle), but let us first drink a toast. 

[Be-eniers Estella. The , beer is passed around. Exit Estella, and 
Ferguson, rising . ] 

Febg. "The Poor Man's Paradise!" May the Paradise sur- 
vive its author, and may the author live to see the Millenium! 
Hubeet (rising). I thank my friend, Clement Ferguson, for 
the kindly expression just uttered. I drink to my honored 
friend : " May he live to see the last day of " The Poor Man's 
Paradise!" Allow me; not to mar the effect, I shall begin 
again. (Reads.) 

" De Profundis. 
" Out of the depths, in the abyss profound ! 
A voice intoned, absolute, increate! 
Bids Chaos. And Chaos Matter begets : 
Pond'rous, elastic, of form inchoate, 
With momentous, irresistible weight, 
She fills throughout the — 

Feug. (interrupting.) Beg pardon. I grant " The Poor Man's 
Paradise" abounds with every evidence of its being the work of 
a talented author ; that it is replete with the sublime in litera- 
ture ; that it revels in the marrow of rhetoric ; and, yet, in the 
face of this sort o' thing, "The Poor Man's Paradise" may 
never see type. 

Hubebt (vehemently). But it will. I assure you it must. 
Please just hear this (resumes the reading) : 

" She fills throughout the universal world ; 
And the surge of elements yet untold, 
Meteorous, cosmic, diaphanous, 
Portent of woe or of weal ominous 

In the void of Infinity !" 

Now for the second stanza. 

Feeg. (interrupting.) Beg pardon. I hope it may see type. 
When I said it might never see type, I said it simply as a prop- 
osition in argument. 

Hcbeet. Ah, very good ! 

Febg. Then, to proceed : While "The Poor Man's Paradise" 
still lingers in the chrysallis, somebody's paradise is seen on the 
wing ; somebody has paid the printer ; somebody has puffed it 
jap ; everybody buys it ; and its mother wit, nonsensical stuff it 



16 potter's field. 

may be, is mouthed by school-boys ; bandied by flunkeys ; 
played off by shopkeepers ; quoted by members of parliament ; 
and, finally, given a place in the encyclopcedia. 

Hubekt. I hope Mr. Ferguson does not insinuate that hum- 
bug and imposture are the talismans of success. 

Ferg. Nothing o' the kind. I insinuate that the milk-and- 
water sop of the proper and respectable bore is insipid to the 
palate of our public. • 

Hubert. I hope Mr. Ferguson is not personal. 

Ferg. Not in the least. I speak from personal experience. 
I wrote in my younger days. 

Hubert. You write, Mr. Ferguson. The performance must 
have been something like the very essence of mother-wit. 

Ferg. Unfortunately for me the mother-wit was altogether 
wanting. At your age, my dear Hubert, I was possessed of a 
sentimental turn of mind. As I looked upon the generous na- 
ture of my emerald isle, dotted here and there with verdant pas- 
tures and rich potato fields, whilst, by way and by lane, the son 
of the soil, his cow unpastured, his children unhoused, unclad, 
and unfed, begged the cold charity of the alien and the stranger, 
I became forcibly impressed that in these scenes was matter for 
tears and poetry. 

Hubert. Very true, very true, Mr. Ferguson, and Ireland's 
disinherited are not forgotten in my "Poor Man's Paradise." 
Just hear this {is about reading a jmssaye). 

Ferg. Beg pardon. I wrote the poem in Alexandrine verse 
— making up a volume of three hundred pages, and entitled 
" Jacob's Pottage." 

Hubert. A splendid connection ! I suppose you saw in Ire- 
land's wrongs the analogy of Esau's lament for his lost birth- 
right. You found a publisher and a rapid sale, I dare say. 

F«rg. I did, but you can't imagine how. 

Hubert. I imagine you had what the public wanted. 

Ferg. Not a bit of it. To resume; the finishing stroke to the 
mamiscript given, I ran down to Scavenger & Co. 

Hubert. The great publishing house in Paster Noster? 

Ferg. The same. Arrived at Scavenger's, I believed myself 
master of the situation, and the indispensable man — 

Hubert. To publishers. 

Fehg. Exactly. Addressing the clerk — thinking he was the 
governor — I said, in a patronizing way: "Scavenger, I have a 
capital thing for you." The clerk, discovering my object, re- 
ferred me to a bland-looking party, in the rear. Then I repeated, 
"Scavenger, I have a capital thing for you." The bland-look- 
ing party — this was the reader — said to me, with a smile: 
"Leave the manuscript, and call again another day." I came 
up to time, and was told, in the blandest manner, that "Jacob's 
Pottage " was respectfully declined. 

Hubert. Declined, Mr. Ferguson? declined? 



pottee's field. 15 

Feeg. Declined. I staggered out as if I had been struck with 
the vision of Belshazar, and on every wall "Jacob's Pottage is 
cooked, and no taker." 

Hubekt. Ah, Mr. Ferguson, that was very unfortunate. 

Feeg. I became firmly impressed that publishers did'nt like 
Alexandrine. Sometime after this, my father died — 

Hubeet. Of disappointment? 

Feeg. Of jaundice; and the good man left me a legacy of two 
hundred pounds. 

Hubeet. Sensible in the father. 

Feeg. I hurried to Scavenger & Co., and ordered an edition 
of a thousand copies. 

Hubeet. . Sensible in the son. 

Feeg. It was paid for, and the printing done. I advertised 
the work, and donated fifty copies to men and institutions, whose 
notice or silence, is the making or the unmaking of a literary 
man. Patiently I waited a twelve month, and not a word did I 
hear. Ten copies in all had been sold. 

Hubeet. No more? 

Feeg. No more. At that time I was, as I am now, agent for 
the New York Hibernian Emigrant Society. As I looked at the 
book shelves, burdened with unsalable material, an idea struck 
me : I tore off the title page to the nine hundred and forty re- 
maining volumes, and I stuck on the stump of the torn leaf, the 
spurious title, " How Pat went, and did the Big Indian in Amer- 
ica." I gave gratis a copy to every Irish, male and female, 
emigrant, you understand. The Society, in New York, hearing 
how much I was doing for the good cause, increased my emolu- 
ments; voted for a large second edition of the work; and the 
American minister, resident in London, was specially instructed 
to present me with a suitable plate of the Society's high ap- 
preciation. Well, (looking at his watch) I am admonished that 
it is steamer day (moves towards the door). 

Hubert. Hold, Mr. Ferguson, I'll bear you company. 

[Hubert rolls up his manuscript in a icrapper, and with it under 
his arm, Exeunt Hubert and Ferguson]. 

Scene 4th same as scene 3d. Maguerite Fitz Simmons com- 
ing out of the adjoining apartment. 

Mag. {Solo log.) Ah, me! It's nice to be somebody's agent on 
a fat salary. Poor Hubert! poor boy! He thinks it's stupid. 
Well, if I was Hubert, and Hubert was I, I would choose to be 
stupid. It must be so nice to have plenfy of money, and to be 
put to but little trouble in the getting. Let us figure it out, for 
instance (keeps tally on her fingers) : With money the rent is paid; 
the grocer's little bill is satisfied; and the family goes to the 
country for an airing. Without money, well — without money, 
it's "root pig, or die." 



16 potter's field. 

lEnter Miss James, with a large parcel.] ^ 

Miss James. Cheer up, Mag. Take stpcks in my enterprise. 

Mag. What is it, Jenny? 

Jenny (exhibiting some unmade garments) . Four dozen shirts 
at a shilling two pence ha-penny a piece. Save half. 

Mag. Heaven bless you, Jenny! Oh, that I could work my 
eyes out to help my poor darling. It seems to me Hubert's 
health is failing. He works so constantly. I know I could'nt 
live a day alter him. Then, who will care for poor baby? 

Jenny* While I live, and have anything, she shall not want, 
Mag. Don't give up. Hubert will yet make his mark. I met 
him with Ferguson at the door. Where was he going? 

Mag. To the publisher's, with his "Paradise." Poor dear! 
How he has toiled on that. I fear Hubert will be disappointed 
with his book. Oh, had you heard Mr. Ferguson relate his 
experience. 

Jenny. Ferguson is a wine-pipe. Don't believe anything he 
says when he is sober. Drive away the blues. Light comes 
after dark, you know. 

Mag. To some night there seems to be no dawn. To cer- 
tain miseries there is no let up. Bad luck sticks and hangs to 
the unfortunate, like a thousand years of purgatory to the un- 
confessed. 

\_Enler Estella, with a book in her hand.] 

Estella. Well, I declare, this is the drollest book I ever 
read. At one time it tells one thing, at another time it tells 
another. 

Mag. What book is that, Estella? 

Est. The story book my Sunday school teacher gave me. 

Mag. Will, what does it say? 

Est. Why, just this. When I read the story for the first time, 
I read of two little girls; one was humble, chaste and obedient; 
her name was Violetta. She grew up to be a woman, and mar- 
ried a prince, and was rich and happy. The other little girl was 
haughty, vain and wayward; she also grew up to be a woman, 
and married a beggar, and was very miserable all her days. 
This one's name was Barbara. Now, what do you think? As I 
am reading the book for the second time, I read that Barbara 
married the prince, and Violetta the beggar; ain't that funny? 

Mag. That's passing all comprehension. 

Jenny. I think the latter version is the more natural. 

Mag. Ah! but the moral, Jenny, where is the moral? 

Jenny. It ain't no where. 

Est. Yes, it is; I say it is. Vain Barbara married the prince 
and was rich and happy ; modest Violetta married the beggar and 
was miserable. 



POTTElt'S FIELD. 17 

Mag. The story didn't run that way though, when you read 
it for the first time. 

Est. No; that's what's funny. I can't see into it. 

Jenny I do. People see morals better as they grow older. 

Mag. Let me examine the book, Estella (she examines the 
book.) Why child, sure enough, the book has become unbound, 
and you have r,eplaced'the loose pages in an inverse order. It's 
Barbara that married the beggar. 

Est. 1 say it's Violetta that married the beggar. 

Jenny and Est. j ,. , . { Violetta! Violetta! Violetta! 

Mag. , ( m - chorus -) \ Barbara! Barbara! Barbara! 



Scene III. — An attic tenement. A large bos serving as a table, 
on which are manuscripts and ink, etc. A stool; some ragged 
clothing suspended to the rafters. A broken stove; some tink- 
er's tools, and a few damaged kettles about. At the side, an 
alcove, wherein may be distinguished a straw mattress on the 
floor. 

Dramatis persona;. Hubert (with toes out of his shoes.) 

Hubert (standing before his MS S. Solo log.) They would none 
of it! I will strike out every noble aspiration; I will erase 
every kindly thought. I will blot out the very name of God, and 
fill up the blank with gall and hyssop, and every bitterness — and 
this they will call cleverness and applaud. Oh, inscrutable hu- 
manity! Anomalous and contradictory! 

[He comes to the opening of the alcove, and apostrophises the form 
of his sleeping wi/e.] 

Hubeet. Sleep Mag., poor, overworked darling! My Mag., 
my pet, my love, it will be well with us yet: indigence and ob- 
scurity shall not be our portion always. Talent will rise; talent 
will soar; and, then, Mag., sweet one of my heart, we shall be 
happy, for God will have smiled upon us. (He draws near the 
mansard window, and opens it.) The night air is cool and reviv- 
ing to the overworked brain. ( The town dock strikes one.) Mid- 
night, and England asleep! England? No! England knows not 
not sleep. London sleeps, but the myriads of England's rule 
are waking. ( From the window he looks down upon the sleeping 
city.) Oh, offspring of a prodigious parent, sleep! and sleep 
the sleepers within thee, that, at the crepuscule, open their 
eyes on thy splendor, on thy opulence, to curse their lot and 
hate thee! When shall a Marius sit again amid the ruins of 
a greater Carthage? Lift up thy head, oh city of the Thames, 
above the deltas of a thousand rivers, above the sands of a 
hundred seas! Suffer five oceans to moor their fleets to thy 
wharves and discharge the tribute of the universe! The marble 



18 pottee's field. 

of Italy and the porphyry of Egypt border thy thoroughfares! Oh, 
England, decorate thy house with the handiwork of France, 
and the gohl and silver of two continents! Still shall the tears 
of the sewing girl dissolve thy grandeur into nothingness! The 
crane and the stork, as at the vernal ecpiinox they cleave with 
rapid wing the northern heavens, shall behold thy desolation, 
and, lighting down, will build them a nest of the t rubbish of thy 
palaces. Then shall India and the isles of the sea clap their 
their hands for joy: Th^n shall the poor of every nation say, 
'Babylon, the mighty, is fallen! Babylon, the proud, has made* 
her house with the stork! ' (Tarns awayfrom the window.) Ah! 
I had quite forgotten Mrs. Crabtree's kettle — wants it early in 
the morning. 

[ Takes up the ke'tle, also some tools, puts up a few coals in a fur- 
nace and sets about his work-.] 

Hubkbt. Bunyan and' Pilgrims' Progress! Tinkers and 
Apollo ! (Hammers away, aud glancing towards the alcove:) Poor, 
tired Mag.! I fear this hammering will awake her. Heavy is her 
sleep whose eye-lids drooped on the midnight needle, aud whose 
dreams are peopled with visions of fairyland! Something is rot- 
ten in Denmark (hammers away.) Rotten, rotten, rotten is the 
body politic. 'Put it down on my tablets.' 

[He writes the words as he sjjeaks them.] 

"A leaky kettle is worth soldering, 

"The body that's rotten is worth nothing." 

No, not that. I don't fancy rhymes in "ing," it's too nasal, 
there's no music in it. Let us see: 

'• Botten bodies of Denmark's life the pest, 
"Tinkers cau't solder nor Danes put to rest." 

That's better. The distich is worth a guinea, just like Vir- 
gil's praise of Augustus is worth a shilling. I'll keep that for 
variety. {Hammers away.) 

[&ome one without is heard rapping at the door.] 

Lodgeb (without.) Hallo, I say! open the door. 

[Hubert stupijied, views the situation. Lodger knocks a panel 
out of the door, and puts his head through.'] 

Lodgee. I say, will you unlock the door, or shall I pass 
through it? 

[Ihibcrl unlocks the door. Enter lodger in night attire.] 



pottek's field. 19 

Lodger. I just want to know what this infernal din is about? 
I can and will put up with it no longer. For the last hour I 
have heard this midnight "tarn, tarn." Now. sir, I pray you 
to explain. Are you in league with the spirits, thus to torture 
balmy sleep in its wonted resorts? Speak, sir; what signifies 
this charivari? 

Hubert. I — I am mending — rotten bodies -I — 

[A host of lodgers rush in, en deshabille.] 

Lodgkr No. 2. Whence is this racket ? Where is this dis- 
turber of the public peace? 

Lodger No. 3. That's he. Let us have reason of the fel- 
low. 

Lodger No. 4. That chap is a midnight conspirator. I know 
it. He is a modern edition of Guy.Fawkes - he is sworn to blow 
up Westminster. I heard him say, and my window is directly 
below his own — I'll repeat it under oath- I heard him utter 
words of terrible significance, and in a tone that meant treason: 
" When," said he, " shall a Marius again sit amid the ruins of a 
greater Carthage? " 

Lodgers {in chorus). Treason, treason! Search the premises. 

[They search and discover a quantity of manuscript papers.] 

A Lodger {holding up a scrip of paper). Here is evidence! A 
damnable evidence (reads) : 

" Rotten bodies of Denmark's life the pest, 
Tinkers can't solder nor Danes put to rest." 

Lodgers {in chorus). Away with him! To the station! 

[They secure the papers and Hubert, and march off with them. 

Exeunt omnes.] 

Scene VI. — Police Court. Judge on the bench. In front a 
table on which are manuscript papers. 

Dramatis Persona;. — Prisoner (Hubert.), Judge, Lawyers, Con- 
stables, Witnesses, etc., etc. 

Judge. Hubert Fitz Simmons. You have heard the reading 
of the indictment, in which you stand to answer for conspiracy 
and high crimes against her Majesty's government. Do you 
plead guilty or not guilty? 

Hubert. Not guilty, my lord. 

Judge. — Are you ready to be tried ? 

Hubert. I am ready, my lord. 

Judge {to counsellors). Who is the counsel for prisoner? 

A Counsel. He has none, mv lord. 



20 potter's field. 

Judge (to prisoner). Have you no counsel to defend you? 
Hubert. I am too j^oor, my lord, to pay counsel's fees. My 
innocence will defend me. 

Judge. The Court will appoint a counsel for prisoner. 

[ The Judge here calls up a counsel, and converses with him in 
dumb show.) 

Hubert. I shall hold no consultation, nor will I have any- 
thing to do with the learned advocate. 

Judge. Is the prisoner contemptuous? The counsel for the 
Crown will proceed with his testimony. 

Counsel foe Crown. We propose to produce but one witness, 
your honor, reserving the right always to call upon others, if we, 
in the sequel, should deem it expedient. 

[ Witness for Crown sworn . ] 

State to his honor what you know touching this affair. 

Witness. I am a good sleeper. I sleep the sleep of the just 
man, and the Queen's loyal subject. (Signs of approbation 
from the Bench.) On the night in question, I didn't sleep a 
wink. As 1 tossed to and fro in my bed, I was seized with the 
hallucination that every kettle in London wanted patching, and 
that every man, woman and child, hammer in hand, were rivet- 
ing the patch on. I jumped out of bed, and opening my window 
to look out into this nocturnal kettle-mending, a voice from 
above, sepulchral and monotone, came to me distinctly, and ' I 
heard these words : " When shall a Marius again sit amid the 
ruins of a greater Carthage ? " (Soisation in the Vourt-room. ) I 
closed the window, lest I might, in a manner, become compro- 
mised in some diabolics ; and, while yet pondering on the import 
of what I hid heard, a terrific commotion broke out directly 
above my lod_;iiiL;s. I ascended the stairs in haste, and intro- 
ducing myself into the apartment whence the noise proceeded, I 
saw this prisoner, and immediately unearthed these documents. 

Counsel foe Crown. The witness, in conclusion, will read 
this distich, which he formed on prisoner's table. 

Witness (reading) : 

" Rotten bodies, of Denmark's life the pest, 
Tinkers can't solder nor Danes put to rest." 

Counsel foe Crown. That'll do. We rest the prosecution. 

Counsel for Prisoner (after some interchange of words in 
dumb show). I pray the Court to relieve me of this unpleasant 
business. I cannot possibly defend a prisoner who will prove 
refractory with his counsel. I must leave him to his fate. 

Judge. Go on, Mr. Advocate, do the best you can, and leave 
the rest with me. 



potter's field. 21 

Counsel foe Peisonee (cross-examination) . Are you of the 
opinion that a man about to embark in a venture, the success of 
which depended on absolute secrecy, would hammer away aud 
talk stuff at a rate to rouse a good sleeper ? 

Counsel foe Ceown. I object, The question is irrelevant. 
Your honor, we don't care a tig for witness' opinion. 

Counsel foe Peisonee. Are yon of the belief that stuff like 
the lines which you have read to the Court would imperil the 
stabilitj- of her Majesty's government ? 

Counsel foe Ceown. I object. You needn't answer the 
question. Your honor, before the law, the witness is a fool. 
He is, so to speak, morally incapable of an opinion or a belief. 
He must know, not believe. 

Counsel foe Peisonee. Do you know the prisoner at the bar 
to be the person you saw the other night in this connection?- 

Witness. I know. 

Counsel foe Peisonee. That'll do. I will have Mr. Fergu- 
son sworn. 

[Ferguson sworn.] 

Do you know the prisoner ? 

Feeguson. I do. 

Counsel foe Peisonee. Tell his honor what you know of the 
prisoner's character. 

Counsel foe C. I object. I will submit no longer to the 
learned counsel's presumption. Your Honor, England, breath- 
less in the suspense of impending fate, this day weighs her des- 
tinies by the verdict of this tribunal. Stein and terrible, she 
looks with apprehension on the " Union Trades," on the Inter- 
nationals, on the Americans, and on the countless machinations 
of domestic and foreign cut-throats. At the bar stands a man 
accused of the most infamous crime on the criminal calendar: of 
conspiring against the liberties and existence of his country; and 
an Hibernian is told blandly to extol the prisoner's character to 
your Honor. To such proceedings I demur. I grant that every 
malefactor lives an exemplary life until that hour when, violat- 
ing the sacred instincts innate in every loyal breast, he, with 
intent malign, dips in treason foul and detestable. 

Judge. Deponent will be directed by what he knows of his 
own knowledge. 

Feeg. For the last twelve-month I had quite lost sight of the 
prisoner. His presence here astonishes me. When I last knew 
him I could certainly have testified to his sobriety, his quiet 
disposition and his innocence. He was perhaps what might be 
termed a monomaniac; that is, he was always in pursuit of an 
idea, and. the reality was nowhere possible but in Paradise. He 
is a tolerable rhymer, but he has no mother-wit. 

Counsel foe C. ("interrupting. J Come to the point, Mr. Fer- 
guson; the Court is waiting. 



22 potter's field. 

Fef.g. He has no mother-wit. We Oirish — 

Counsels (after a moment's consultation.) We submit the ease 
to your Honor. 

Judge (to prisoner.) Stand up. This ease is one of those 
rare instances in the annals of British jurisprudence — be it said 
to the everlasting honor of Englishmen —in which a son of free 
and merry England is on trial for conspiracy against the land 
that gave him birth. I can perceive nothing of a character that 
would justify me to require your appearance at the next general 
assizes on the charges set forth in this indictment — unless, per- 
haps, "Denmark" is to be construed for "England" and the 
"rotten bodies" for the Houses of Parliament and Courts of 
Justice — a construction which the Bench cannot quite deter- 
mine; yet, according to Blackstone, I cannot expunge your dis- 
turbing of the public peace. I consequently — 

Counsel foe P. Your Honor, there is no complaint of this 
kind in the indictment. 

Judge. Very true, very true; then, in that case, I shall order 
'that prisoner pay cost, or in default, that he be incarcerated in 
the common jail for a period of thirty days. 

[The session is ended.'] 



Scene VII (same as Scene IV.) Mag, alone, sitting at the 
box. sewing, a caudle dimly burning. Baby in cradle at her feet. 
Time, 3 o'clock a. m. 

Mag (solo loq.) Sew, nimble fingers. Fly, needle, and rest 
not. For Hubert's freedom, ny. My noble Hubert in a com- 
mon jail! Is my Hubert a thief? — a coward ? — a fraud? He 
could not pay the price ot freedom— three pound sterling. Two 
pound-six to make up. Sew, nimble fingers, and my Hubert 
shall be free! Would they but let me share Hubert's disgrace! 
Didn't I beg to stay with my darling? (Looking toward the 
sleeping babe.) Fret not, little one; be good, baby, and papa will 
come to his pet by-and-by. (She sits herself on the floor, reaching 
over the cradle.) Does Nellie want to see papa ? Will Nellie 
help to get her papa home ? Mamma take Nellie by-by, and 
Nellie will hold out her tiny hand and good ladies will give my 
little beggar a penny for papa's freedom. Heaven bless the 
good, and Nellie's guardian angel, and poor papa. 

[She nestles close to the child and falls asleep. Hubert appears at 
the broken panel in the door; finds the door locked; he unlocks it 
from tlve inside; opens and enters. ] 

Hubert (solo loq.) Softly now. (He bends down over her; calls 
her name, but she makes no answer.) On the floor and fast asleep; 
Mag! I am going away, Mag, and have come for a parting kiss. 



potter's field. 23 

Why now break her heart ? Let the poor tired one sleep, and 
she will know it but too soon at her waking. [Bises and goes to 
the box on which are writing implements;. Takes pen and paper and 
writes, dictating the words.'] "Mag, good-by for a season. The 
present hour will see rne on the road to Yorkshire. I must find 
work and support in the iron mines. Courage till I come again. 
I will soon return for Mag and baby. Adieu. Heaven defend 
my darlings. Your own, Hubert." 

[He turns away from (he box and looks toward Mag.~] 

Hubert. Shall we not meet again ? O, then a kiss ere we 
part, perhaps nevermore to meet. [He kneels down in silent 
prayer. He kisses his sleeping wife and child tenderly; rises again 
and moves toward the door.] Good-by, Mag; good-by, baby, 
good-by. 

[Exit Hubert.'] 

Mag. [wah rug up from sleep.] I am so happy! It was but a 
dream; there [pointing to the. swroxindings] is reality. Day is 
breaking. Sleep is short when dreams are sweet. [Rising.] I 
dreamt I was at Willow-brook, happy onee again. Hubert was 
with me. He kissed me and called me his own dear wife, and, 
as he had done, he showed me in the dim distance, resting as it 
were on the clouds, a beautiful mansion, the abode of angels, 
and he said to'me, "Mag, yonder you are to dwell, but to reach 
the place we must ford this river," and, as he spoke, he took 
me up in his arms- and was about going down into the water, 
when — [noticing the paper.] Ah, some one came while I slept. 
[She reads with much emotion and then runs out upon the steiirs, 
crying.] Hubert! Hubert! Hubert! 



Scene VIII (Specteiculetr) . On the foreground are to be seen 
anvils; at the sides, blast furnaces; on the back ground, the 
arms of Great Britain. Hubert, kneeling, supports an iron 
globe on his shoulders. A chorus of girls, as Cyclops, perform 
evolutions, and strike on the globe and anvils to the time of the 
music. Voices behind the scenes (Air: Anvil Chorus, in II 
Trovatore). 

Chorus.— 

List, Albion, deep in the earth the warm heart is beating. 
Hark, on the stormy waters the strong nerve is straining. 
Strike! strike! strike! Brittania's anthem on the anvil ring! 
On the anvil ring: " Mon dieu et mon droit. Iron's king, Vive le roi." 

List, Albion, on mountain top arteries are swelling. 
Hark, in city and des> rt the tir'd foot is plodding. 
Strike! strike! strike! Bi ittania's anthem on the anvil ring! 
On the anvil ring: " Mon dieu et mon droit. Iron's king, Vive le roi." 



2-1 potter's field. 



List, Albion, in attic ten'nient a girl is weeping. 
H.irk, from thy sceptered tenure the moments are fleeting. 
Strike! strike! strike! Brittania's anthem on the anvil ring! 
On the au vil ring : " Mon dieu et mon droit. Iron's king, Vive le roi.' 



(End of First Act.) 



ACT II. 

Scene I. — Parlor of the Fitz Simmon's mansion, London. 
Appointments " a la millionaire." Fine evening. 

Dramatis Personoe : Sir Fitz Simmons, confined to his easy 
chair with the dropsy in his feet, is engaged in a game of domino 
with Miss Mack. Mincebeck is toasting his feet at the grate. 
Grospotrine. Lady Fitz Simmons working on embroidery. The 
children are turning over the leaves of an album. A servant in 
lively is standing at the side of Sir Fitz Simmons. Wine, cof- 
fee and sweetmeats on a side table. 

Grospotkine (pacing the room, a napkin fixed to his breast, and 
his ha nds loaded with refreshments). Gentlemen may vaunt the 
virtues of statesmen, of divines, of poets and their ilk, but, in 
my opinion — this mocha is very fine — in my opinion, the more 
important personage is the perfect cook. 

Mincebeck. The culinary artist has undoubtedly his merits, 
but they are circumscribed by the pots and gridirons of the 
kitchen. 

Grospotrine. Circumscribed by the universe. He is a skill- 
ful physician; a vigilant parson; a talented diplomat; for he 
ministers to the stomach, and the stomach is (draining his cup) 
humanity. • 

Company (in chorus). Oh, Mr. Grospotrine. 

Grospotrine. I say it, and I am in the habit of saying — this 
cheese is excellent— of saying what I think. Where we see 
talents to devise; abilities to execute, we see invariably — a ten- 
der turkey — we see invariably a good stomach. The stomach is 
humanity " par excellence," and the cook is prime minister. 

Lady Fitz Simmons. Admitting — but where is your, human- 
ity " par excellence " when the treasury is empty? 

Gros. Aye, truly ; but the stomach makes the treasury. 
Gentlemen may assume — splendid sandwich— may assume airs 
of supreme indifference, if they like; but, I would ask, what 
man was ever known to succeed in any undertaking, until he 
had first done homage to the stomach. Look not on a difficulty 
with a concave stomach. The prudent general never hazards a 



potter's field. 25 

battle till he has questioned the commissary. The solicitor for 
royal clemency will abide his time until the sovereign shall first 
have done justice to his roast. And, were it not for irreverence, 
•I would — your pastry cook, Lndy Fitz Simmons, is a Frenchman 
— I would invert the moral of Dives and Lazarus. 

Company (in chorus). Oh, Mr. Grospotrine. 

Mincebeck. A man, sir, is not a stomach. 

Geos. I beg leave to differ — 

Mincebeck. Man is not a stomach. 

Gros. Man is essentially a stomach. In common parlance 
we say: Such a one is gay or melancholic, active or phlegmatic; 
but this expresses exactly the state of that person's stomach; 
and the explanation is purely a secret of one's innerself {turning 
to the ladies ) . Have nothing to do, ladies, with the dispeptic; 
shun the hypochoudriac; turn away from the sallow coun- 
tenance {goes to the side board). 

Sib Firz Simmons. I perceive, ladies, that (to the domestic, 
with pain) — my legs, Matthew, my legs. (The domestic applies 
flannels to Sir John's feet.) — that Mr. Grospotrine is a worthy dis- 
ciple of Epicurus. 

Gros. Yes, sir; I admire— chateau lafitte! your gout, Sir 
John! (drinks) — I admire the man and the philosophy, which 
the fastidious have been pleased to misunderstand. I pronounce 
his philosophy religion reduced to good sense. 

Mincebeck. Ah, good sense. 

Gros. He says: "Deny yourself nothing that imparts pleas- 
ure, and use moderately that you may enjoy the more." That's 
his " sermon on the mount.'" I endorse every word of it. 

Company (in chorus) . Oh, Mr. Grospotrine. 

Mincebeck. We must presume that it is to your Epicurean- 
ism that you owe your robust health, Mr. Grospotrine? 

Gros. I must conclude that it is to the like of these (waving 
his hand toward the side table ) . At all events, I don't go much 
on living on air, and dying on sentiment. (He unfastens the 
napkin, wipes his mouth, brushes away crumbs, and walks the room 
with his hands locked behind him.) By your leave, ladies (lights a 
cigar and smokes) . 

Sir Fitz Simmons. Mr. Grospotrine is a firm believer in the 
solid realities of life. In that belief he has many a fellow. The 
spirit of the age favors that view. 

Mince. This last enunciation of Sir John is open to criticism. 
The age leans toward the spiritual. Is it not evident that mod- 
ern arts, and sciences, and creeds, and civlizations tend more 
and more toward the refined in texture, the delicate in taste, the 
intellectual in perception? Gentlemen assert that the age is 
materialistic. The assertion stands on nothing. 

Lady Fitz. People have long ceased to court martyrdom — 
(Sir John, in agony) — for an opinion or an idea. 

2 



26 potter's field. 

Mince. Men live at this day who will court more than mar- 
tyrdom, purely to feed a spleen and wreak it on others. 

Miss Mack. I am not a babe on this sublunar sphere ; but I 
must say that I have not yet met the man that would die for an' 
idea. 

Lady Fitz. It were a bad idea. 

Geos. A stupid idea. 

Mince. I have not seen as many lunar revolutions as Miss 
Mack— 

Miss Mack (interrupting). Yes, you have; yes, you have; 
you might be father to my grandmother, Mr. Mincebeck. 

Mince. Yet I have seen people die for what others would 
think of them after they were dead ; and what is this but an 
idea? 

Lady Fitz. The idea of a moneyless man. 

Gros. Of a harmless idiot. 

Mince (excited). Man is an idea. 

Gkos. Man is a stomach. 

Mince (more excited). I say he is an idea. 

Gkos. And I say he is a stomach. 

Company (in chorus). Question! question! 

Miss Mack. Those who favor man, an idea, will make it man- 
ifest by the usual sign of the order. 

Company (in chorus.) I! (Expression of pleasure from 3Fince.) 

Miss Mack. Those \vh > favor man, a stomach, will likewise 
make it manifest. 

Company (very loud). I! I! I! 

Miss Mack. The stomach has it. 

Grospotkine (feeling complimented). Ladies, dear ladies ! I 
have always felt the tender passion for the ladies. (Kears the 
ladies). I will decipher an hieroglyphic. I shall expound a 
mystery. I will utter an oracle. If you would be sought of 
the lords of creation (sensation from Miss Mack) ; if you would 
be honored in the person of your husbands (sensation from Lady 
F.) — cultivate the stomach. When your husband comes home 
to you from the race, the club, or the counting-room ; his face 
radiant with love, and he folds you in his arms, and presses his 
lips to yours (ladies feel entertained), don't say to him, "Now, 
my dear, don't be silly ; " my dear, be proper ;" " my dear, be in- 
tellectual." Or, again, " I have the sick headache (groans from 
Sir John, and altercation with the domestic) ; or; " Neuralgia in 
the face ; " or, a " Stitch in the side." All of these tribulations 
are of no tact, ill-timed, mal apropos, and indicate that the 
stomach is terribly out of order, and domestic felicity soon to be 
out of sorts. 

Company (in chorus). Capital! capital. 

Mince. Not so capital. Not capital at all. Ladies and gen- 
tlemen forget that woman has a head.' I take exception to the 
gentleman's presumptuous discourse. I repeat, woman has a 
head. 



potter's field. 27 

Sir Fitz Simmons. Woman has a heart. 
. Gkos. When she possesses a stomach, Sir John. 

Miss Mack. Contradictions are ill-bred, Mr. Orospotrine. 

Gkos. I mean no discourtesy, but I have a right to a differ- 
ence in opinion. And, I must say, that where we see one ugly, 
unfeminine all-head female hold tenure in a man of parts, we 
see a score of the fair daughters of Eve cram the apple-core down 
the sesophagus of twenty sons of Adam. 

Company. Bravo! 

Mince (riving). I would observe, and I speak from personal 
observation, that I have known women, whom on first impres- 
sion any one would have declared very repulsive, and on closer 
intimacy were found exceedingly attractive. Their ugliness was 
so obliterated by the versatility of their conversation that they 
were pronounced pretty. 

Miss Mack (feeling complimented) . This is invariably true of 
every woman that has intellect. Woman's charms lie in her ex- 
quisite command of language. 

Gros. [aside;] So of the magpie. [Takes the seat which Mince- 
beck has vacated. 

Miss Mack. Nor do her charms stop here- -I do not court 
praise for my"sex — [rising] Let deeds, not words, speak for us. 
Here is Lady Fitz Simmons, for instance, stitching away on 
what? 

f Mincebeck takes the seat vacated by Miss Mack, and begins a 
game of domino with Sir John. ] 

Gros. Blast my wits if I can answer that. 

Lady Fitz. A smoking cap, sir, for our missionary fair at 
St. Giles. Will you invest? 

Gros. On the spot, my lady. I will buy the smoking cap 
for the king of the Fidjees. It is good for the conscience, that 
the Malays of the South Sea are capped by the good ladies of 
St. Giles. 

fVIiss Mack. Mr. Grospotrine is sarcastic. 

Mince. All stomach and no soul. 

Gros. I dote on "ye poor heathen." 

Lady Fitz. And our indigents of the parish. 

Gros. Aye, truly, charity should dwell nearer home. 

Miss Mack. Nor should it end there. 

Gros. (rising) Hear the wind howl ; hear the rain-drops beat 
against the shutters. Winter is without, and hunger, and naked- 
ness. England's poor suffer, madam ; pray take three prices for 
the bauble. I'll smoke that thing myself. An Englishman is 
as much a king as his royal highness of the Fidjees. (He goes 
over to Lady Fitz, counts the money, puts the cap on and resumes 
his plrtce.) The proceeds destine to your neighbor. 

Mince, (aside). Cool, 'pon my word. 



28 potter's field. 

Miss Mack (aside). Deliberate impudence. (Aloud.) Your 
benovelence is easy; you put your baud in your pocket: Prestu,! 
Quick! and Mr. Grospotriue has done it. As you smoke your 
cap, and toast your kip on tbe tire grate, woman, sir, is study- 
ing and devising, and worrying for to comfort, to clotbe, to 
feed — 

Mince. Witb spiritual bread and fabrics. 

Gkos. Tbin clotbes and victuals, tbose. 

Miss Mack. Tbe bomeless, the naked, tbe hungry. Not con- 
tent to study, and worry, and devise at home, she wades through 
floods, plods through the surge of the elements, she gathers — 
(Hears a commotion withoxd) What is the matter? 

Company. What is tbe matter? 

[Mag. entering, while the footman endeavors to keep her back.] 

Mag. Let me see his face! Let me speak to him! I must 
speak to him! ( While struggling, she falls to the floor, in a kneel- 
ing attitude. Then, addressing Sir Fitz Simmons:) Oh, for 
Hubert's remembrance; for Hubert's babe's dear sake, have pity 
on me. 

Lady Fitz (getting over her stupefaction, and -addressing the 
servant). Dennys, Dennys, how is this? How dare you admit 
any one in this apartment without first consulting our pleasure? 
Take the woman oiit! 

Miss Mack. Take the woman out! 

[The servant vainly erdeavors to lead Mag. oid.~\ 

Mag. (to Lady Fitz) . Lady, let me live. If I have in aught 
offended, my poor babe is innocent. Let me live for "baby." 
I shall die, and who will care for my darling? 

Miss Mack. Doesn't the woman belong to any parish? 

Mag (to Sir Fitz). Oh, father, father, must Hubert come to 
London, and find bis home the abode of strangers — his wife 
dead? I am dying. Let mc die here. 

Lady Fitz. j ni j Can't think of such a thing. 

Miss Mack, f 0/l0rws - -j Horror! 

Mag. Let me die where Hubert's dear mother died. Send 
for baby. 

Lady Fitz. \ r ,, j You must not think of it. 

Miss Mack, J ^ norus - j You had better go. 

Mag. My strength fails. I shall no more bear my babe. 
Good gentlemen, speak a word for me. 

Mince. ] f Domino! Domino! Domino! 

Lady Fitz. ' r ' t} J Brazen impudence! 

Miss Mack, f lv ? einer - i Shocking effrontery! 

Gkos. [The poor creature looks cold; she 

shivers (to Sir John). Fitz Simmons, have her approach to the 
grate (goes to Mag.) . Draw to the Are and warm you. 



potteb's field. 29 

Miss Mack. Mr. Grospotrine, mind your business, sir, and 
let other people attend to theirs. 

Sir Fitz (to Mag. J. Draw nearer, and tell me of Hubert. 

Mag. (advancing a siep on her knees J . I will, I will; oh, I will. 
Say that I may live. For Hubert's and "baby's " sake, say that 
I may live. 

Drcsilla (near to her father, and crying). Tell her so, pa. 

Lady Fitz.] f Drusilla, Drusilte, you are a child, 

i Toaether - 1 m ? dear ' 
Miss Mack, f { Why can't the woman go out? 

Mince. [Draw, Sir John, draw! Here they are ! 

Sir Fitz. Oh, Hubert, my sou, my son! 

Lady Fitz (crosses over to the invalid, and with much warmth) : 
Sir John, do be composed; excitement, you know, aggravates 
your malady. 

[Miss Mack comes to the aid of Lady Fitz, and they both set to 
work chafing Ids feet.'] 

Sir Fitz (in agony). Oh, Hubert, my prodigal; my poor, lost 
boy! (Ladies rub vigorously.) This is excruciating. (To the 
ladies.) Gently, ladies; the parts are exceedingly sensitive. 
(To Mag.) Draw near, and tell me about Hubert. Where is 
Hubert? Where is my wayward boy? 

[Lady Fitz springs to her feet, and taking Mag. by the arm, who 
has now risen from her kneeling attitude. Fitz Simmons crying out 
at intervals : " My poor wayward boy ! " 

Lady Fitz (to Mag.) . This will never do; your conduct is in* 
the highest degree reprehensible. You will be the death of Sir 
Fitz Simmons. When Hubert threw himself away, and married 
you, it nearly killed his father; and your conduct to-night will 
kill him quite. (To Dennys, stupefied.) Why don't you move? 
(To Mag.) Please do not make a scene, but let the servant lead 
you out. To-morrow, we shall see what can be done for you. 

[Mag. moves towards the door, looking steadfastly on the stem 
features of Lady Fitz.~\ 



Scene II. — Hall, opening on the street. Foot of the stair- 
case. 

Dramatis Personce : Marguerita Fitz Simmons. Domestics of 
the house. 

1st Servant. You swate lady; if that ain't shameful, now. 
An own son's wife turned away; and such a noight as this. The 
mither of God have pity on the poor of this worrold ! 



30 pottee's field. 

2d Serv. Come wid me; do, now, it's warm and comfortable 
in the kitchen. 

Mag. (Shivering) . I thank you, I thank you kindly. I am 
not cold now. I can't stay; "baby" is crying for hs mama. 

1st Serv. Don't go yet for jist a minute. (To 2d servant.) 
Priscilla, you run down to the pantry, and bring up a noice 
little assortment for the sick lady to take home with her. (Exit 
2d servant.) ' 

Mag. I have no home. I need nothing; thank you for your 
good heart. 

1st Ser*v. And is it no home, you haven't? and where is your 
baby — in the street? Your mon has left you, of course. 

Mag. My babe is with Miss James, a friend of mine. 

Isi Serv. Well, now, why can't yon go to Michael Flanne- 
gan's to night? You'll find the house in Smithfield. He is a 
brick-layer hj trade. And you tell him — you are quite tired out; 
sit down on the stairs, now, {Mag. sits herself at the foot of the 
stairs) — and you tell Mike and Ann Flannegan, that their cousin 
it is that sends you, and narry a blessed ha-penny will yor. have 
to pay. Mind what I tell you; and stay with them till Hol- 
low-een, and if there is anything to pay, thin it's Bridget Flan- 
negan that'll pay it. 

2nd Serv. (Re-entering with sundry clumsy packages.) Here 
they are, and I wish they were bigger, and a thousand times as 
many. This is a package of English breakfast tea — you take 
care of that, now, (puts the package in Mag's pocket) and don't 
you breathe a word of it to a soul that lives : We drink that in 
the kitchen, but a de'il-a-bit do they in the back-parlor. Arrah, 
■ these rich people are dre'ful stingy in servants' living— and to 
treat a poor sick sowl as they did you! — an own son's wife, and 
the mither of their own grand-child, too. The murrain on 'eiu 
all. Arrah, an' I would add the dry rot, too. 

1st Serv. (to 2d Serv.) Let me talk to the lady, now. (To 
Mag.) For two-pence you ride the "buss" to within four 
blocks of Michaels'. (She searches in her pockets.) That spal- 
peen of a Jamy took the durthy six-pence I had in me pocket. 
i To 2d Serv.) Ain't you two-pence about you for the lady? 

(A step is heard on the stairs; strvaiits conceal bundles.) 

I Enter DrusiUa.] 

Dnv. A contribution from Mr. Grospotrine for you. I knew 
you weren't gone. They say I am an importunate beggar. 

2d Sebv. (taking the money from Drusilla.) Bless the man, a 
ten-pound note ! Take care of that, now. 

[Hands it to Mag., wh-o takes no notice of it.'] 

Dru. Now, do come to-morrow morning, you know what ma 



POTTERS FIELD. 



31 



said. Bring the baby. It is a girl baby, ain't it? I wish ma had 
a baby. I must hurry back to the parlor. Now be sure and 
come. Good night. 

Servants. Aiu't she the cream of girrils! 
Mag. I must not tarry. {Rises and opens the street door.) I 
thank you all tor your kind intentions. I will not take these 
things — to-morrow I shall not-^to-morrow — good bye. (Exit 
May.) 

Scene III — Potter's Field. Two body-snatchers digging up a 
body; one of them invisible, in the fosse, the other visible with- 
out. Time, midnight. 

1st Body-snatchek. Haven't you got on it, Billy? 

2d. I have. It ain't worth the match to blow it up. 

1st. A lean subject? 

2d. Yes, lean; must have looked heavenward a long time. 

1st. A female subject, eh? 

2d. Yes, a woman — didn't head off London bridge. 

1st. The fat subjects are the casualties, Billy! 

2d. Tell me something I don't know, will you? — as if I had 
just opened business. 

1st. I like a drowner, Billy. A drowner is ten pounds in 
the fist. 

2d. I say, Tommy, hand me the rope. (Tommy 1st) hands 
him the rope. ) There's a chain and locket round her neck. Hold 
down the bull's eye. ( Tommy holds the lantern over the edge 
and peers downinto the fosse.) 

1st. Let a fellow take a squint, will you. 

(Billy (2d) crawls out of the fosse with the locket in one hand, 
and the lantern to his mouth. They both creep on all fours a few 
steps to the front.) 

2d (seated 'alaturque') Tommy, ole boy, there's an argu- 
ment in this 'ere. 

1st. (on all fours.) A picture? 

2d. The picture of a gentleman of quality and a country lass. 
Tommy, do you know what's in my head? I Negation from T.) 
It's in my head that the subject (a toss of the head towards the 
fosse) is the country lass. 

1st. 'Cause? — 

2d. Because it ain't quality. 

1st. The subject was the chambermaid. 

2d. How do you know that? you don't take the newspapers. 
You'll do only on a jury. 

1st. It's only what I think. 

2d. You have no right to think. You are morally a juryman. 
Let me tell it: The subject was then fatter than she is now. 

1st. That's what I — 

2d. Keep quiet. A fat country lass is appetizing, so is a fat 
subject. My lord (with a shake of the locket) must have the fat 
thing. 



32 potter's field. 

1st. Sensible. That's what — 

2d. Silence. My lord's father sends the yonng scapegrace to 
the Continent, and the country lass (a nod backicard) to Potter's 
field. 

1st. Just what I was going to say. 

2d. You're a fool, Tommy. You'll make a juryman. To the 
subject's resurrection {Billy [_2d] fastens the locket to his oion 
neck. They both return to the fosse, on all fours, and grab the 
rope.) 

1st. Ready? Hoist away! ( Wlien about to pull up the body 
he perceives a moving form in the obscurity; then lowering his voice 
and pointing in the distance.) The night owl is on the lookout! 
Every rat hunt his hole. ( They sneak away and crouch down 
behind a mound.'] 

[ The moving form ( Hubert) is seen with a scrap of paper in one 
hand and a dark lantern in the other.'] 

Hubert (solo loq.) Number 5,010. north side. (Comes to a 
picket and stoops down.) 5,0J0! (Sits himself down on a heap of 
gravel, and resting head on the palms of his hands, repeats mechan- 
ically:) 5,010! What is 5,010? — (gathers a handful of earth) a 
little dust {lets the gravel fall to the around) on the earth. An 
expired breath — the episode of a tale unwritten. Mag! Mag! 
Sweet angel of a better destiny! Where is my Marguerite ? 
Where is she for whom my soul thirtieth ? — here, 5.010 ? 
(Rises, and, stumbling on a shovel, jncks it up.) Ah, a shovel! a 
primitive device. The Alpha and Omega of all existences! 
With this, man buries the promise of the unborn harvest; with 
this, he buries the harvest of the sickle of time and the promise 
of a resurrection. (Drops the shovel.) A promise! We die, 
then, as we live: in promises unfulfilled. The flower born of 
Nature's smiles expands her petals in promise, and the wind 
and the rain come tearing on and dash to the earth the hopes 
she had cherished. Poor, loving, sweet Mag! Cut off from 
life's promises ere she had lived at all; even as the tender leaf 
breaks from the withered branch, and, falling to the earth, it is 
gathered in jut 5,010! (Moves toicard the fosse and perceives the 
open grave.) What? not closed! — is it possible ? or, does Pot- 
ter's field yield to Heaven what Heaven claims for its own ? (He- 
lets himself down into the fosse.) A coffin uncovered! Mag! Mag! 
Speak, darling ! Speak to Hubert ! It is Hubert ! your own 
Hubert! he has come back to his pet. Why did he leave her to 
suffer and to die? 

[Body-snatchers stirring in their concealment.'] 

1st Body-snatcher. I say, Billy, this is getting monotonous. 

2d. An escape from Bedlam, Tommy. 

1st. Let us snatch the lunatic — are you on it ? 



pottek's field. 33 

2d. Two snatch one! 

1st. A good subject, Billy — sound as a new bell. 

2d. A diseased wit. 

1st. More matter for study. A capital subject. Worth fif- 
teen pounds. Let us feel the fellow; he might give us trouble. 
(They advance toward Hubert, who has come out of the fosse .) I 
say, mister, you interfere with our franchise. 

Hubert (On the defensive.) Who are you ? 

1st. Undertakers. 

Hubebt. Ha, ha! Give the poor bodies decent burial. The 
world has warred upon them: they are vanquished: the grave 
opens to them her hospitable maw. 

2d. What are you, anyway ? 

Hubebt. I am a wanderer. I go north and south, hither and 
thither. I seek that which has no existence ; I call to that which 
has no ear; I listen to that which has no voice. Are you chari- 
table men ? 

2d. Indeed we are. We are charitable grave-diggers. 

Hubert. I love a charitable man. I would go from Cancer 
to Capricorn to find a charitable man. I would kneel to a 
charitable man. Let me ask you: how is it that, being chari- 
table grave-diggers, you leave graves uncovered ? 

2d. To give the dead an airing. Physicians recommend it. 

Hubkbt. [Springing upon him with the agility of a lion.'] 
Villain, thou liest. Thou robbest the grave. Thou defilest the 
dead. 

2d. [struggling to get free.] Hold- -hold — you — choke me. 

1st. [scuffling with Hubert to free his comrade.] Let go of 
him. 

Hubert [having both down and strangling them]. Will you 
spare the dead ? 

2d. [strangling.] I — will — I — can't breathe. 

1st. [ditto.] Let — go — I choke. 

Hubert. [Letting them up, but retaining his hold on them.] . I 
require you to fill this fosse — and henceforth to let the poor dead 
lie in peace, or — I'll make two subjects for the medical faculty. 

Both. We'll do it; we'll do it, honor bright. [Hubert Ms 
them free, and the filling of the fosse commences, Hubert standing 
at a distance, his arms crossed on his chest, and absorbed in thought.] 

1st. [to 2d.] I say, Billy, what gives crazy people muscle? 

2d. This chap is possessed of nine devils. 

1st. I wonder what connection the dead of Potter's Field are 
to him? 

2d. Lunatics and paupers are first cousins. 

1st. I'd like to know by what authority the fellow forbids us 
this franchise. 

2d. That's what I've been studying since my throat is better. 
Tommy, do you know what's in my head? 

1st. An argument. 



34 potter's field. 

2d. It's in my head the fellow is the young scape-grace. 
1st. Here goes the last clod. (To Hubert.) Does rny lord 
settle the bill ? 
Hubert (advancing and pointing to the way out). Leave I 

I They move away and are lost in the obscurity.] 

Solo loq. Wretches! Wretches? Why wretches these more 
than others ? These play the part of the maggot — others of the 
anaconda. These feast on the dead ; others on the living. Poor 
Mag, devoured by the cold slimy reptile ; and then these vermin 
— No, this (pointing to the mound) is not Mag. It is 5,010! — 
(looking in the void) — Now, 'twixt you and me — Anaconda! scaly 
monster! Venomous beast! Fasten thy fangs in the pulsating 
heart ; and, still warm with the arterial fluid, tear it out of the 
human breast, and cast it to the dogs! On what is weak, bear 
down with thy heavy coils! What is good, and true, and beau- 
tiful, grind into atoms! If I have tenderness, smother it. If I 
have tears, choke them down. If e'er my breast heaved for the 
joys and sorrows of my fellow-creatures— call these things fool- 
ishness; and, like the relics of the antiquary, leave them undusted 
and unsought on the shelves of bygone memories.— No, no ; not an- 
other prayer ; not auother good gift bestowed ; not another smile 
vouchsafed. — Oh, Destiny inscrutable ! circumscribed by orbits 
of mighty revolutions, timed by cycles of infinite periods, never 
more shall I bend on this earth — thy derision — the suppliant 
knee. Hurl famine, pestilence, and the havoc of war on the 
inhabitants of this hated planet. Let him that hath wisdom be 
seized with foolishness. Let him that hath virtue be seized 
with panic. Let him that hath charity be accursed. Give me 
to execute the mandate of thine anger. Give me to hear the 
thunders and the crash of a dissolving^world. Yet shall I not 
quail ; my frame shall not tremble. — Flesh of the hyena, be thou 
my meat ! Adders' virus, be thou my drink! Drink and eat for 
to hate— to hate with all thy soul, with all thy heart, with all thy 
strength — to hate — to hate the rich ! 



Scene IV. — Spectacular. In the background, a hideous mon- 
ster, figurative of Mammon, reposes on the summit of a mount- 
ain, in the likeness of a pedestal. In a semi-circle, in front and 
at the base of the mountain are four groups, each group repre- 
senting by characteristic emblems and costumes one of the four 
continents. The side scenes represent the vegetation of tho 
different zones. 

Dramatis Personce. — Hubert, Fairies, Imps, etc. 

Incident. A cataract of gold is pouring out of an opening in 
the mountain. Hubert is represented in a reclining attitude, 



POTTERS FIELD. &0 

and, as it were, drinking at the cataract. He wears the guise of 
a pilgrim. A walking-stick and a pack are seen near to him. 

Enter a company of fairies, sprites, etc., holding in their 
hand sceptres of gold. Dancing, they approach the base of the 
mountain. Close to the foregoing appear a company of imps, 
elves, etc., with sceptres of silver. These, likewise, dance as 
they near the mountain ; in front of the four groups at the 
base of the mountain the two bands intermingle in the dance. 
Then with their hands outstretched toward the mountain and the 
cataract, they sing : {Air, "Rejoice, or Millenium.) 

Chorus. Sing I, sing all ! the golden flood is pouring ! 
Sing I, sing all ! to us Pactolus flowing ! 

First Solo. I could not speak the magic word. 

Sec. Solo. Nor I reveal the divine hoard. 

A Fairy {speaking). I cried, " Ye gods help me." 

An Imp {laughing). Hi, hi, hi ! Fatima ! 

Fairy (speaking) . Who found the spell ? 

Imp (speaking) . The cock shall tell. 

Semi-Chorus (crowing). Co — co — lico — o ! 

Chorus. Sing I, sing all ! the yellow god is smiling ! 
Sing I, sing all ! for us riches showering! 

Fikst Solo. Sister, for once we'll drink our fill, 
And quench our burning at the rill. 

Sec. Solo. Be its waters the molten gold, 

We'll drink and drink a hundred fold. 

A Fairy (speaking, and poi?iting out Hubert) . I see a pilgrim . 
An Imp ( laughing). Hi, hi, hi ! His mouth hugs the brim. 
Fairy (speaking) . Will he fall in and drown ? 
Imp (speaking). And lose the fool's crown! 
Semi-Chorus (braying). Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw! 



Chorus. 



Sing I, sing all ! the golden sands inspiring ! 
Sing I, sing all ! great Mammon's fame exulting ! 

First Solo. The pilgrim has the magic wand. 

Sec. Solo . He is a prince in all the land. 

A Fairy ( speaking) . The god has snubbed me ! 

An Imp (laughing) . Hi, hi, hi ! Sesame! 

Fairy (speaking) . The pilgrim might take a wife. 

Imp (speaking). Not he, I'll bet my life. 

Semi-Chorus (cackling) . Kwang — kwang — kwang ! 

[ They ascend the side of the mountain, and pick up the prostrate 
form of Hubert. They set him on a portable platform, and bearing 
him aloft, march down, one leading and holding the wand.~\ 



36 pottek's field. 

Chorus. Sing I, sing all ! let every tongue rejoicing, 
Sing I, sing all ! a joyful pasan to our king ! 

First Solo. Imp, and elf, and greater fry, 

Behold your king exalted high ; 

Sec. Solo. Take him again over the sea, 

And his sceptre shall mighty be. 

A Fairy (speaking). The pilgrim is sleepy. 
An Imp (laughing). Hi, hi, hi ! — tipsy! 
Fairy (speaking). Sleep becomes a prince. 
Imp (speaking). Drunk with opulence! 

Semi-Chorus (personating drunkenness) . Hie, hie, hie ! The 
pilgrim is a brick ! 

[Chorus march out with Hubert.'] 

Chorus. Sing I, sing all, the golden flood is pouring I 
Sing I, sing all ! to us Pactolus flowing ! 

[End of Second Act.] 



ACT III. 

Scene I. — Ocean View, England. A country seat of Sir Fitz 
Simmons. Time,' ten years after Act II. 

Dramatis Personal. — Sir and Lady Fitz Simmons. Godfrey 
(iu a sailor suit) and Drusilla Stoughtenborough. Nellie, the 
orphan (now a girl of thirteen years.) Grospotrine, a guest. 
The actors are in an open court in the foreground. In the back- 
ground is a vista of the ocean. At the right of the court may be 
seen a part of the Fitz Simmons villa; at the left is an aged oak, 
against the trunk of which are resting oars, mast and sail, etc. 
Sir Fitz Simmons, afflicted with the gout, as formerly, is seated 
in an easy chair on rollers. He scans the horizon with a glass. 
Lady Fitz S. occupies another chair near him. A domestic 
stands by Mr. Fitz. 

Nellie (to Grospotrine.) You shan't have my wreath. Didn't 
you just say that flowers were a nose medicine ? 

Grospotrine. 0, yes, for the angels; but such a nose as mine 
can only be reached through the stomach. 

Nellie. I wish you wouldn't say stomach again: it is a bad 
word. 

Gros. Well, I won't. Give me the wreath. 



potter's field. 37 

Nellie. I'll give you a riddle, and if you can unriddle it, I'll 
give you — 

Gros. A kiss. 

Nellie. Drusilla will give you the kiss. 

Drusilla. Nellie, now behave. I'll do no such thing, Mr. 
Grospotrine. 

Nellie (the riddle.) — 

" In my tenement, 
Maggots with me dwell : 
In my firmament 
Blooms the daffodil." 

Godfeey. I know, I know. It's a cabbage. 

Drusilla. It's a flower. 

Gros. It's a garden toad. 

Nellie. Give it up ? 

Gros. I give it up. Now it's for me to kiss. (Struggles with 
Nellie mid kisses her. ) 

Nelllw. You know, grandpa, grandma, aunt Drusilla, and I, 
and Godfrey, are going to London by the three o'clock train. 
Well, Drusilla promised me that if I would be a good girl and 
recite forty verses in St. John— (to Drusilla.) — didn't I say 'em 
good, Drusilla ? — (mark of asseiit Jrom Drusilla) — she would 
take me to poor mamma's mausoleum in Norwood, and I have 
made this wreath for the occasion. 

Gros. You are an angel. 

Nellie. Then if I am an angel, why did you tell me I was a 
little imp a while ago? — you hateful man! (gives Grospotrine a 
slap.) 

Sir Fitz Simmons (pxdting away his spy-glass.) Nellie, darling, 
don't be rude. 

Nellie. Mr. Grospotrine is a tease, grandpa. (To Grospo- 
trine.) I'll go away and leave you. I forbid your company to 
London. (Goes over to Drusilla, and taking her arm, says:) Don't 
you marry him (Grospotriyie), and if he asks you, you say no. 

Drusilla. Now, pet, don't act wild. 

Gros. (coming up slyly from the rear and taking both the girls 
around the waist.) A conspiracy! 

Godfrey (to Grospotrine.) How happy would you be with 
either ? 

The Girls (breaking away .) Neither! 

Nellie (to Grospotrine.) O, you have quite ruined my wreath, 
you have. And I wanted it for — (cries.) 

Gros. (coaxingly.) Now don't. I'll run to Daisy-lane and in 
a wink I'll have a parterre of flowers at your feet. 

Nellie, Very likely! and the train at three. 

Godfrey. It's but two-thirty. 

Drusilla. I'll help you make the wreath, dear. 

Lady Fitz S. And I, too, Nellie. 



38 pottee's field. 

Godfrey. And I, too. Won't you have a hand at it, pa ? 

Sir Fitz S. 0, certainly. 

Gros. But I must have a song, first. 

Nellie. I'll sing when you get back. 

Gros. No, pay to-day and trust to-morrow. 

Nellie (sings, holding her broken wreath. Air plaintive.) — 

' ' I was a tender flower, 
Born of a May morning ; 
But a September flaw 
Felled me of an evening. 

" Afar the stricken leaf, 

(Breaks the flowers, and the leaves fall circling to the ground.) 

Carried in the whirlwind ; 
A fairy of the leaves, 
Saw me in Potter's Field. 

"Then weep not, tender flower, 
Again, in the morning, 
You'll smile upon the flaw 
That breaks not in the evening." 

(Pettishly to Grospotrine.) Now run and fetch my flowers. 

Gros. Very good, very good; I will; but 1 don't like that 
Potter's Field. 1 can't seethe connection. Potter's Field conveys 
an odor of Jack Ketch's rope-dancers, garlick-eating paupers 
and nauseating carrion, which, associated to a "tender flower," 
quite dispel a pleasant fragrance. Where did you get that Pot- 
ter's Field ? [Exit Grospotrine.~\ 

[Godfrey retires to the background with Sir Fitz's spy-glass and 
looks out to sea."] 

Nkllie. The angels told it me. What is Potter's Field, 
grandpa V ' ' 

Sir Fitz S. A burying-place, Nellie. 

Nellie. Will I be buried there when I die, and have a 
wreath on my tomb ? 

Drusilla. Don't ask such questions, darling, I could almost 
cry. 

[ Withdraws to the foot of the oak tree and rests her head against 
the trunk, ] 

Lady Fitz S. (to Nellie.) Come with me, my dear. (They 
retire a little way aside, and in a subdued tone:) Your mamma, 
through some inexplicable inadvertence, was buried in Potter's 
Field. This is a family secret, my dear; it must be hushed. 



potter's field. 39 

Nellie (in an ordinary tone.) Is mamma in Potter's Field, 
grandma ? 

Lady Fitz S. Hush, hush! Your grandpa and — I — or — 
rather, your aunt Drusilla, had the body disinterred and placed 
in the family mausoleum in Norwood Cemetery. 

Godfrey (from the background.) I say, pa! The steamship 
"New World," of the Fitz Simmons line, out to sea. Come this 
way. Splendid sight. Nothing visible but the mast-head. 
Rides the fog and full steam on! Ah — splendid! splendid! 
Ah — (going through the manoeuvre of rowing.) "We Oxford boys, 
alone, can beat that. Come this way, pa! 

[Sir Fitz, Lady Fitz and domestic retire to the background, where 
Godfrey and Sir Fitz talk in dumb sliow. ] 

Nellie (approaching Drusilla.) You look sorrowful, Drusilla. 

Drusilla. 'Tis good to be sorrowful, Nellie. Sorrow marks 
the way to heaven. It is sad to die young. She was only nine- 
teen when she died. I think I see her now, pale, trembling, on 
her knees, imploring for to live. 

Nellie. Whom, mamma, Drusilla ? 

Drusilla. A phantom, dear; a vision. Nellie, charity is 
beautiful. Better the record of a good deed for a head-stone 
than the dome of St. Paul's. It is awful not to leave a survivor 
to declare on your mound: "Here lies a charitable soul." 
Charity is not magnitude: a word might have saved her, and 
that word was not spoken. 

Nellie. Saved whom, Drusilla? Of whom do you speak? 

Grospotrine (returning with a basket of flowers) . Here they 
are, and now for the wreath. 

[ He puts down the basket, and he and the two girls kneel round 
«.] 

Nellie (to Gros). I dare say, you will be a great -help ; you 
don't know a violet from a sunflower. (Impatiently.) Oh, now, 
Mr. Grospotrine, if you ain't as blind as a bat ! you have fixed a 
marigold along with white pinks — yellow and white don't har- 
monize. 

Gros. Never mind. It's in now. 

[.A detonation is heard out to sea.~\ 

Godfrey (excited) . She has struck ! She has struck I 
Gros. (Jumping to his feet.) A disaster. 

'[General excitement. Godfrey seizes the oars and runs to the beach. 
Grospotrine seizes the mast and follows Ann] 

[Exeunt all. 



40 pottee's field. 



Scene II.- Ocean View. — The Beach, on the morrow of the 
disaster. The wreck in the distance. 

Dramatis Personal. — Commodore Fitz Simmons (Hubert), 
Secretaries to the Commodore, Sailors, Black Servant in livery, 
Lady Fitz Simmons, Godfrey. 

Present. — Lady Fitz Simmons, Godfrey, Secretary. 

Godfrey. I like the Commodore ; he is cool. Think of it, 
mother, think of it, The ship was broken amidship and settling 
fast — a clear hypothesis. I say to Grospotrine — I was stroke 
oar — pull Grospotrine (going through the motion), pull for Oxford 
and St. George ! By heavens, madam, we did pull. I reach the 
wreck. I spring over the gunwale. Not a soul on deck. I find 
the hatchway, and down in the cabin I see a solitary man, his 
head in a sling, packing his effects. I exclaim, "The ship is 
going to hell!" "Gone," says he. " Get out for dear life, " 
says I. "We three shall meet in the devil's paradise," says 
he. 

Lady. Fitz. Packing his millions, I dare say. 

Secretary. His secretaries had charge of his valuables. I 
had on my person alone papers to the value of forty million 
sterling — somewhat wet. 

Lady Fitz. A lovely commodore. Forty millions did you 
say ? (aside) These Americans are worth considering, (aloud) 
I perceive the Commodore. (Aside to Godfrey) Introduce me. 

[Enter the Commodore, borne on a litter by four sailors, several 
secretaries about him, and, a black servant. Lady Fitz, Godjrey and 
Secretary go to meet him.'} 

Godfrey (to Hubert). How now, Commodore? 

Hubert. Comfortable. Thank you for yesterday's inten- 
tions. 

Godfrey. Ah, Commodore, Oxford (going through the drill) 
pulls a dem good stroke. Permit me to introduce my mother, 
Lady Fitz Simmons. 

[ The introduction. ] 

Lady Fitz. I am so happy to think, Commodore, that my 
son saved your precious life. 

Hubert. Not in the least, madam. These chaps (the sailors) 
had the gig at the larboard gangway, awaiting my orders. 

Lady Fitz. Ah, I misunderstood my son when he said, "Not 
a soul on deck." 

Hubert (All the while very busy writing out and receiving des- 
patches. Secretaries continually going and coming). Very true. 
Every soul had been landed. 

Lady Fitz. Great pity. Fine ship. Heavy loss. 



potter's field. 41 

Hubert. A small affair. A fly-specked chart. A befogged 
captain. A broken nut-shell. A small affair. 

Lady Fitz. A very small affair. 

Godfrey, A nut when the meat is out. 

Lady Fitz. You are prostrated, Commodore— I hope I am 
not intrusive — could my son be of any service to you ? 

Hubert. The tide is going out ; he might whip back the 
crabs. I have crabs in horror. They move sideways. 

Lady Fitz. Injuries to the head affect the brain. 

Hubert. Save seeing double, my head is level. 

Lady Fitz. Pray excuse the intrusion {about to take leave). 
Be sure to call at the Fitz Simmons' Villa before you leave Ocean 
View. 

Hubert. In thirty minutes a special train carries me to Lon- 
don, madam. 

[Exuent Lady Fitz and Godfrey.] 

Solo loq. Have I murdered a seventh wife that every petti- 
coat in the land should haunt me ? Can't I breathe a little sun- 
shine alone? {to attendants) Take me hence. 

[Exeunt omnes. 

Scene III.— Same as Scene III, Act. 1. Two apartments, one 
with cosy appointments, the lodging of Estella, now a ballet-girl. 
The other, plainly furnished, the lodging of Hubert, the Com- 
modore. On the wall of Hubert's apartment is to be seen an 
oil painting, representing a solitary mound. The two rooms are 
separated from each other by a partition. Time, evening. 

Dramatis Persona;. — Estella and Hubert — each in his and her 
apartment. 

Hubert. Solo loq. Money, at thy shrine a world rampant 
daily pray. Thy name I invoke to confound whom thou con- 
siderest — and, with the parasites, be thyself confounded. God- 
dess of this ill-starred satellite, from thy giddy height descend 
to vulgar boards, to amble and to jig, like a dancing girl, before 
a carnal audience. Fickle mistress ! Wooing for very wan- 
tonness them that loathe thee — yet, will I suffer thy wanton hu- 
mor ; yea, I will {Estella, hearing a voice in the adjoining room, 
di'aws near to the door and sits herself there) kiss thy ruby lips ; 
with the diamond I will adorn thy golden tresses ; I will sport 
with the scarlet of thy vesture ; and, at the feast where there 
shall be many, of thy wines I shall test the virtue ; so in the 
temple of Dagon perished a man with them that sat at meat. 

Estjllla {pleasantly surprised. Solo loq.) A rehearsal ! A 
star actor! I am so glad. List ! 

Hubert {resuming his soliloquy). It seems as if it were 
yesterday, {looking at the surroundings) that here, in these 



42 pottee's field. 

same imprints, stood the buffeted of varlets, of scullions, of 
things of no merit, envying the swine his garbage. Oh, thou 
poor little misery! (addressing the picture on the wall) from 
that canvas come forth and call me braggart, poltroon, and 
perjured, if a nerve of me trembles for fear — if a chord vi- 
brates for compassion. Ah, money! hail to thee money! To 
the gift of the harlot all hail! (To the picture again) Be thou 
silent, little corpse ; I will speak; Money is mine, and tongues 
and power. I outstretch the arm and the mines shut down. . I 
stamp with the foot, and the fields lie fallow. I give a nod, and 
the rivers run to the sea and turn never a wheel. I speak, and 
the heavens and the earth withhold the manna of the millions. 
Then is heard a wail on the murky air! Then the throes of the 
slave convulse the earth — These are the Thermopylae to Turk 
and barbarian — and, (to the picture) little grave, thy Salamis! 
Woe to the vanquished ! Woe to the idolator! Woe to the 
fabric of Mammon, when reeling, tottering, and falling low, 
sinks- in the mire where the builders have left uhhelped an angel 
of God! (Sits down to a table on which is writing material. ) 

Estella. (Solo loq.) Splendid! splendid! A star. Yes, a 
star. But whence cometh a star to Houndsditch ? — to lodgings 
at a shilling a week! It is a riddle to me. I must learn who it 
is — what and when'ce he is. How to proceed? I should be dis- 
creet and proper ; but 1 want to know if a star, unknown to the 
magi, has, perchance, lit down in Houndsditch. Oh, for a 
stratagem! A week's wages at Drury Lane for a stratagem! Ah, 
I have it now. I am a neighbor — in the dark ; the match-safe is 
lost, and he has a light. [Blows the candle out, and knocks at 
Hubert's door. She is admitted.'] A thousand apologies, sir. 
Indeed, I hope I am not — but — a — 1 — thought — as the match- 
safe can't be found, and as I was in the dark — I thought — 

Hubert. Here is a light, madam [holding out the candle]. 

Estella. [7/i her nervousness, extinguishes it.] Oh, dear me! 
in the dark with a man! how compromising. 

Hubert. [Strikes a match and lights both candles]. Here is 
your light ; let it shine in your apartment that men may glorify 
your prudence. 

Estella. Thank you, sir. A thousand thanks. [Moves to- 
ward the door and slops.] I am so awkward. I hope you will 
excuse my awkwardness. My uncle, who is now dead seven 
years, used to say, " Estella, you are pretty ; you'll do for 
Drury Lane ; but you are awkward, my dear ; and when the au- 
dience calls you before the footlights, don't put them out." 
Well, I suppose you are busy, and I must go. [Moves toward 
her apartment, and stops again.] Do you know Dogberry, of 
Ditry Lane? 

Hubert. No, nor do I wish to know him. What about Dog- 
berry ? 

Est. Why, sir, he is a star. You ought to see him in 



potter's field. 43 

Othello. A splendid impersonation. The management pay him 
£200 a night. 

Hubert. A splendid humbug, I'll wager. 

Esr. (draws nearer to Hubert.) We artistes can't bear to hear 
of one another's praise. I know it, I know it. I hated Stra- 
della because she looked so ravishing in the " Temptation." At 
what theater do you play ? 

Hubirt. At the Tartarus. 

Est. I know of no such play-house in London. 

Hubert. I do. 

Est. Please excuse my indiscretion, but; — a — {looking at the 
surroundings) what do they pay you a night there ? 

Hubert. I play for glory — or, perhaps, to gratify a spleen. 

Est. Glory is fool's pay. I get ten shillings a week at Drury 
Lane. Wouldn't they pay you anything ? 

Hubert. A million, if I would hold my tongue. 

Est. I'd like a million on terms so easy. 

Hubert. I'll give you half a crown. I value silence. 

Est. I thought you said a million. (Observing the writing 
material on the table. ) Pardon my curiosity; but whenever I see 
foolscap it reminds me of a friend of long ago — I have forgotten 
his name — he was forever writing. He was writing " The Poor 
Man's Paradise," and — what was bad — he wrote himself and 
family into it. I was a mere child then, but I will never forget 
how he said to me — in this very room — one day that he looked 
so pale and cast down: "Estella, never write a book, or, if you 
must needs do it, write nothing to make people more charitable." 
Why do you look at me so earnestly? (tihe sits herself on the 
edge of the cot close to Hubert's seat.) 

Hubert. 0, nothing. I am not writing a book. 

Est. What is it, then V 

Hubert. A play. 

Est. And pray, what is the play ? 

Hubert. "The Devil's Paradise." 

Est. Will you have that out at the Tartarus ? 

Hubert. I will. 

Est. (coaxingly .) Give me a part, won't you ? 

Hubert. Have you a good leg V 

Est. I am accounted a good figure. You are naughty. 

Hubert. I shall have legs in the play. I must have good 
legs. I admire feminine legs. Were I a woman and possessed 
of natural legs, I'd make the most of them. Modesty gets no 
credit. 

Est. Too much continence hath made thee fall out with 
modesty. 

Hubert. I knew a woman, once; modest she was, and kept 
Nature's trust sacredly. She died. They gave her the sepulture 
of a dog. 

Est. (tenderly a> id rising.) Alas, Poor soul ! 



44 potter's field. 

Hubert. Alas for modesty! 

Est. Little do they who require of us concessions to Venus 
know. what costs the first step. The flush on the cheek pre- 
ludes the brazen composure with which we expose nightly to ihe 
gaze of the multitude what Nature destined to love alone. Yet, 
sir, believe me, we are not quite lost to instincts natural to our 
sex. In the giddy whirl of the gay's daily life, some trip and 
fall; and, whilst the strong and the faultless pass on, we stoop 
over the fallen girl and hide the blush the strong have wrought. 

Hubert. You are charitable, Estella. The charitable fare 
roughly iu the nether paradise. 

Est. Charity covereth a multitude of sins. 

Hubert. The leg it covereth not. 

Est. Why will you be so naughty ? You are a hypocrite — 
a hypocrite that would act a role that hypocrites eschew. These 
seek the praise of whom they dupe : you, the hatred. I wish I 
could hate you. I like your looks — what is your name ? 

Hubert. John — Hubert. 

Est. Hubert, have you everloved and never known charity ? 

Hubert. Love is a sorry-Andrew and charity's twin brother. 

Est. I pity you. Well, I have loved, and loved truly. At 
my door no gladsome hand had ever rapped; over my threshold 
no loving face had ever been known to pass. On this side: a 
tenement under the tiles, landlords, task-masters, and night 
vigils in the flicker of swaling tallow. On that side: protection, 
selfish, subtle, perfidious protection. I longed and trusted — for 
I am a woman, and for that protection gave a heart. I loved, 
and — [Estella sobs.] 

Hubert. " Thou canst not say I did it." 

Est. [after a pause.] Hubert, where did you buy your furni- 
ture '? 

Hubert. Houndsditch. Second-hand. 

Est. A singular taste. Why didn't you get rosewood ? 

Hubert. 'Tis too common. I like novelty. 

Est. And pray, where did you unearth that dismal, horrid 
oil painting ? 

Hubert. In a curiosity shop. I cultivate the horrid. 

Est. Well, M — r. Hubert, you are an odd mortal. I don't 
know what to call you, still less what to make of you. It's time 
to meet my engagement at Drury Lane. I appear in Othello. 
I am lady in waiting to Desdemona. Success to "The Devil's 
Paradise." Goodnight, Hubert, goodnight. 

Hubert. Take the match-safe with you. [Hands her the safe.] 

[Exit Estella] 



potter's field- 45 



Scene IV. — Drawing-room of Mr. Bolingbroke, Jesse of Drury 
Laue Theater. 

Dramatis Personam. — Bolingbroke ; Martin, Stage Manager; 
Dogberry, a star actor; Hubert. Present: the first three persons. 

Bolingbroke. Shakspeare is superanuated. It is alone the 
prestige of your name, my dear Dogberry, that packs the house. 

Martin. Dogberry is the very skin of Othello. He is the 
original Moor of Venice. To speak my sentiments, Dogberry, 
the dagger is your forte. 

Bol. The dagger! the dagger for Dogberry! Othello will 
have a run while there is a Desdemona to stab and a Dogberry 
to stab her. What do you think, Martin ? 

Martin. No Dogberry, no Shakspeare ! When we shall 
have worn out Othello, we have Macbeth; we have Julius Cresar, 
and then — we have Othello again. 

[Hubert, introduced.'] 

Hubert. I wish to see Mr. Bolingbroke of Drury Lane. 

Bol. 'Tis my privilege to be that personage. 

Hubert. I have a drama which I would ask you to have the 
goodness to examine. I would like to have it appear on the 
boards of Drury Lane. {Offers the MSS. to Bolingbroke, and 
Dogberry takes it.) 

Bol. My dear sir, I receive a hundred applications of this 
character every day. The world of letters teems with dramatic 
aspirants, and, urdess the applicant come endorsed with an 
established reputation, I absolutely decline to entertain any 
proposition he may make. {Eying Hubert with an air oj supreme 
self-complacency .) What drama have you written for the stage 
with which the public is already acquainted ? 

Hubert. None. You would not examine this ? 

Bol. I had rather not. I want a popularity already estab- 
lished. 

Dogberry. What price do you set on this effort ? 

Hubert. I have not set any price. I have no experience in 
the drama brokerage. 

Dogberry {toweling with importance.) I'll give you ten 
guineas. 

Hubert. It is the labor of a life. 

Dogberry. Of an eternity, I dare say. 

Bol. You might be but too glad to give it away to a Dogberry. 

Hubert. Not much, (takes back the MS.) Are ten guineas 
the ordinary price paid by Drury Lane for a drama? 

Bol. The price is quite arbitrary, and ranges all the way 
from nothing up to — a good deal more than the production is 
worth. I think, on the whole, the gentleman has made you a 
liberal offer. 



46 potter's field. 

Hubert. Perhaps he has ; and, had I intimated a barter, I 
would thank him. As it is, I thank him not. 

Bol. I can do nothing with your drama. Please don't in- 
sist. 

Hubert. I have not insisted ; nor shall I. 

Bol. Then, what do you want ? 

Hubert. I want the theatre. I could easily purchase every 
brick. I prefer, for the time being, to lease it of the lessee, 
whom, I believe, you are. For what money, consideration, sir, 
will you make over to me your right and title to the lease of 
Drury Lane? 

Bol. But I am not disposed to entertain a proposal of this 
kind, unless it comes from a person who has the money, and 
means business. 

Hubert. I am that person. 

Bol. Have you fifty thousand pounds? 

Hubert. Every morning before breakfast. 

Bol. On your producing evidence, we'll strike the bargain. 

Hubert (taking out liis pocket-book) . Make out the transfer, 
and this check which covers the consideration, will be cashed on 
your order at Hubert Fitz Simmons, in Lombard street. {Sen- 
sation.) 

Bol. The American nabob of Lombard street. ( Whispers a 
word to Martin, and exit Martin.) Have I the veritable honor! 
My dear Commodore, allow me the pleasure. (Shakes hands 
and then introduces) Mr. Dogberry, a gentleman that ranks high 
in the profession. He is the luminary of Drury Lane. He is 
cheap at any price. (Sits down to write the transfer. J 

Hubert (to Dogberry) . I pay down the money, and no ban- 
tering. I shall be happy to employ talent, come whence it may, 
and the piice what it may. But, sir, I reserve for myself free- 
dom of action. If you come up to the standard of my ideal, I 
shall pay you a compensation never yet attained anywhere by 
the best talent in your profession : and, the instant you fail, 
yo\ir services will be no longer required. 

Dogberry. What, sir, may I understand is your ideal of a 
first-rate actor? 

Hubert. One who renders the author's idea perfectly. 

Dogberry. The drama is my specialty. Character is my ex- 
cellence. Where the author is but an idea, I am a living em- 
bodiment. 

[Re-enters Martin, who whispers to Bol. " All right.' 

Hubert, (holding out the MS.)) Here is an idea, which ac- 
cording to your estimates of values, is worth, in perpetuity, ten 
guineas. I'll pay you ten scores and ten guineas a night if you 
give this idea a just expression. ( To Bolingbroke. ) Well, sir, 
are things satisfactory? 

Bolingbroke. Certainly, Commodore, certainly. Here is 



potter's field. 47 

the document, and the immediate possession of Drnry Lane. 
[Hands the papers.) 

Hubert (to Dogberry). We shall anticipate the first repre- 
sentation with a three months' rehearsal. The rehearsal is paid. 
You will receive a printed copy of this manuscript this evening. 
Meet me to-morrow at the theatre. Gentlemen, I wish you good 
day. [Exit Hubert. 

Scene V. — Spectacular — "The Inferno." Drury Lane Thea- 
tre. The rehearsal! 

Dramatis Persona?. Hubert and Martin on the left. Godfrey 
and Grospotrine on the right. Throughout the scene, these two 
persons, in dumb show, make remarks and criticisms. In the 
centre is seen Dogberry, on a throne, as Satan. Estella, as 
Cleopatra, and a number of other performers, in various char- 
acters. 

Martin. Attention. (To Satan.) Begin. 
Satan — 

" Powers and celebrities of a far world ! 

"In this sphere of darkness and dire despair, 

"Banish from your heart all apprehensions, 

" That they who honor me their faults shall rue. 

' ' Let no regret, for a past to me gi'en, 

" Add aught to your woe and the merriment 

"Of Heaven's favorites. Let them whose sceptres 

" Survey the amethyst precincts of Sion, 

"Ennuied of their eternal Sabbath, 

" Peer through, of this realm, the sulphurous mist, 

"And descry nought to relieve the tired sense, 

" Save measures of wrath meted out to those 

" Who harmed them least. Scenes of ghastly horror 

" Shock the human sense. To eyes angelic 

" "i'is gi'en to view the torments of the damned, 

" With a beatitude self-complacent 

" Look they : but not on a retribution 

" Saints so hugely relish. For, to the gates 

" Of Jerusalem, the holy city, 

" A wail shall ascend on the wing of night 

" That shall cleave the unyielding adamant. 

" For, I, too, in my realms reign sovereign : 

" And in hell there is a lower abyss : 

"A chasm filled with misery supreme, 

" Where I destine, whom, in life militant, 

" Honor me less. The fiat of Heaven's king 

" Thus I mock. Thus shall hell inaugurate 

" A regime, the counterfeit of Heaven's own. 

"Wherefore should I not, of my leal subjects, 



48 potter's field. 

" Soothe the agonies, and rich gifts bestow? 

" I, whom fears of a greater fall haunt not, 

" Shall not outrage common rules of justice 

" To do the pleasure of our oppressor. 

" You, that reveled in the world's abundauce, 

" And of that abundance gave nought away : 

" You, that mocked Faith, and Hope, and Charity, 

" And the human heart rendered desolate : 

" You, who gifts possessed to build Christ's kingdom, 

" And l-eared hell : Blessed be ye of Satan! 

"Thrice welcome to my Court! 

Chorus. — 

"All hail, Satan! 
Satan. — 

" I order, of your homage, th' expression. {Sits on the throne.) 
Chorus (come up before the throne by squads, and bowing, exclaim:) — 

"Hail, Satan! Hail, hail! Sovereign of the damned! 

[O/ionts wheel off in the maze of the ballet. At the close of a pas de 
deux by Cleopatra Setniramis.'] 

Satan. — 

" 'Tis well, 'tis well. Blood chokes my art'ries; 

•'Paroxysms of rage possess my sense. ( To attendant. ) 

"Drag hither the unprofitable elf 

" Mark you: a woman of delicate mould, 

"Emaciated by long penance and toil, 

" In whose memory still dwells the features 

" Of one she loved to look upon, and think 

" That death would seal to her a glad embrace. 

Cleopatra. — 

"August sovereign, at the foot of thy throne 
"Thy subject this day would plead for mercy. 

•Satan {to attendant bringing in a woman loaded with chains.) — 
"Bring her hither to drink the cup of wrath. 
"And thou (to executioner) brimstone and acid sulphuric 
" Prepare, to chafe the stripes I shall inflict; 
" And get thee scorpions, and beasts reptilian 
"To perforate her heart; and, if her paps 
" Have given suck, sear them with irons red; 
"Then to the Dragon in the fiery lake 
" Cast her. Him let sport with feline instinct, 
"A prelude, when with fangs jagged and slimj% 
"He her temples crunch." 

Martin. Very well; very creditable, Mr. Dogberry. Quite 
up to your best efforts. But don't you think the effect would be 
improved if you would put on a stronger emphasis on crunch? 



potter's field. 49 

Satan. — 

" He her temples ckunch. 
One of the Chorus. — 

" She is poor, my lord." 

Martin. — 'Twon't do. 'Twon't do at all. " She is poor, my 
lord," won't do. The commiserate, the entreaty, is not pointed. 

Idem. I never point anything with Mr. Martin! Well, then: 
"She is poor, my lord." 
Another. 

" Of the world's reproach has borne the burden." 

Martin. A defective articulation. Avoid " burn the burren." 
Pronounce distinctly: borne the burden. 

Idem. Borne the burden! 
Another. — 

" My lord most gracious, she is a mother; 

"And in things of her motherhood failed not." 

Martin {to woman in chains.) For gracious sake, Arabella, 
avoid that vacant look — as if you wished everybody to know that 
this business was mere moonshine. Put on an attitude of dis- 
tress and an imploring countenance. Rattle your chains occa- 
sionally. 

Woman in Chains (rattles..) There! will that do ? 
Another. — 

"Iu sore trials, abjured the world, the flesh, 

" And your majesty." 

Martix. A weak rendition. Put irony on "and— your 
majesty." 

Idem. And — your majesty. 
Satan. — 

"Ah — ah ! poor, you say!" 

Martin. I humbly beg pardon, Mr. Dogberry. A very ex- 
cusable slip on your part — or, perhaps, an oversight of the 
author's which you would correct. An artist of your originality, 
Mr. Dogberry, frequently improves the written word. But, not- 
withstanding, we shall be governed by the text. It is: "Ah — 
ha!" 
Satan. — 

"iZ — a! R — a! poor, you say! 

"Poor and a mother! A fool absolute! 

"A dupe to those instincts with which nature 

"Tricks womanhood. Stubborn exigency, 

" In a world partly mine, requires mothers 

" To flee to the mountains t' escape hell 'neath. 

"A fool! Adjured my majesty, forsooth! 

"Absurd credentials she brings to my court. 

" Wherefore presumes she to my lenieucy 

"With a record so inglorious and mean ? 

"As she, on earth, so linger she in hell : 



50 potter's field. 

"A thing trodden, whose lot is to suffer. ( To tormentor.) 

"Tormentor, stand to thy post ! The word, watch. 
Chokus. — 

" Unto Satan be honor and glory ! 
Satan. — 

"And thou, my Cle, Egypt's fnirest daughter, 

" In my diadem the most precious gem, 

"To share this throne of State, I call thee queen. 

" Caesar, Pompey, Antouiue, (nodding to each) thou gavest me. 

" Thrice renowned art thou. Welcome to my throne. 
Cleopatra (ascends to the throne and bowing.) — 

" May it please your majesty most august : 

" To bring lustre on your Satanic realm 

" I have done somewhat. 
Satan.— 

"Bewitching lady! 
Cleopatba. — 

" Over regions made brilliant by dark deeds 

"Done above, I would not now cast a gloom. 

" Woman, my lord, is oft what man makes her : 

"Unfaithful lovers make the fickle heart. 

" Oftentimes have I, eminent in sin, 

" Yearned for the offender of humble cast. 

"I implore thee, my lord, spare this woman. 

Martin. I wish, Miss Ferguson, you would confine your at- 
tention to the stage. Your world does not extend beyond the 
foot-lights. You have the incorrigible habit of gazing into the 
orchestra boxes. It is insufferable. 

Cleo. Well, ain't this a rehearsal? I believe I know what I 
am doing, Mr. Martin. 
Satan - 

"Voluptuous offspring of a sky serene, 

"Beauteous creature of Africa's sunny clime, 

" Thy language would doom thee to durance vile, 

" But beauty calls thee to adorn my court. 

" I know woman's art, and her subtile sway, 

" But to her ways invulnerable pro've. 

" Shall he, who wars 'gainst the Omnipotent, 

" To feminine whim be a pliant tool? 

"Tortures refined delight me, (pointing to the woman) she 
" must writhe. 
Cleo. — 

" My lord, love of life in the human breast 

"Implanted, and to poverty allied, 

"Imperils above the poor's salvation. 

"Thus condemned to expiate their trespasses 

"In a government they have meanly served, 

" They rue it, indeed. 



potter's field. 51 

Satan.— "The greater fools, they: 

" Why not serve me more? then, might they, like thee, 
"Dear girl, reap the reward of sterling worth. 
" As the just dispense justice, so do I: 
" He that honors his lord, a recompense 
"Receives. Non obstante, the soul that sinneth — 
"Be it by the breadth of spider's web — 
"Is driven to my gates. — And, happier he! 
" That sins by the breadth of a hemisphere! 

Cleo. — 

"Honored sir, for my sake, this woman spare, 
" Or, nevermore this sombre realm my smiles 
" Shall illume. 

Satan.— "Think not, presumptuous one, 

"That from the recesses of Tartarus, 
" Deep 'neath the ash and scoriae of ages, 
" I cannot disinter a human form 
" Like thee, fair and beautiful to behold, — 
"And force a smile? From this throne betake thee! 

(Cleo. descends from the throne, and takes the zuoman in chains, 
in her embrace.) 

"Ingrate! In pain shalt thou rue thy folly! 

" Incestuous monster! in whose arteries 

" Courses the venom of the subtle snake, 

" Learn that in this domain, where I reign king, 

"The damned quake when I frown. — I give the nod: 

" They smile. Slave! (addressing the executioner.) The in- 
struments make ready; 

" Beckon thy myrmidons (assistants appear) them, (the women,) 

tear apart. 

"And ye, ministers of my displeasure! 

" See well to your work. The sensitive flesh 

" Cause to quiver. And as the irons red 

"Sink deep into the wound, your acid pour, 

" Which, eating its way into the vitals, 

"Lacerates the most delicate tissues. 

" Yet shall I be more merciiul than they, 

" Who, in the planet above, mutilate 

" The human heart; th' exquisite work of God!" 

Hubert [interrupting.) Hold! hold! Mr. Dogberry, this is in- 
tolerable. Your rendition, sir, is a pitiable parody of nature in 
art. 

Dogberry {interrupting.) Mr. Simms, I am astonished at 
your inappreciation. I am an artist of twenty years' experience, 
and have ever monopolized the plaudits of the intelligent pub- 
lic. Sir, I— 



52 potter's field. 

Hubert (interrupting.) I have no doubt, that of a certain 
public, you monopolize the plaudits; but they are not the 
plaudits of humanity. You are an artist, sir, whom art has 
made, not nature. You speak that which you think not; — you 
act that which you feel not. You are not the expression of the 
heaving and pent-up aspirations of a down-trodden humanity. — 
You are the servile receiver of 200 £ a night. You — 

[General sensation.'] 

Dogberry (coming doum from Satan's throne, excited.) Sir, 
you insult me. I do not submit to any man's insults. No man 
ever insulted me with impunity. I have done the utmost that 
your Devil's pardise will admit of doing. If you have anything 
unpleasant to say to me, I hope you will consider it professional 
and sensible to say it privately. 

Hubert. Sir, I beg you to believe that a man wrought on an 
anvil like the one on which I have been hammered out, is not a 
respector of persons; nor is he to be intimidated by any talent 
rated 200 £ a night. Mr. Dogberry, you are the complete expo- 
sition of the revered imposture of the day. You are a humbug 
of the first water. — A quack. {Extraordinary sensation. ) 

Dogberry (interrupting.) I'll prosecute you for defamation of 
character. 

Hubert {resuming.) A quack raised on the wind of dame For- 
tune's trumpet, and 200 £ a night makes the humbug and spoils 
the artist, sir. I will go up and down Smithfield; 1 will scour 
Church Lane; I will probe the Devil's Acre, — and among repro- 
bates auathemized of society; — among corruptions, whom, liv- 
ing grovel in the chamel house; among infectious creatures wal- 
lowing in the ooze of this metropolis, I shall find a man, who, for 
a crust of bread, will pack this theatre an hour before time; who 
will command hisses and applause, ecstasy and curses, such as 
to make even the massive piers of London bridge quake down to 
the bed-rock, Mr. Dog-berry. 

(Dogberry having assumed a menacing attitude, makes for Hubert. 
They clinch. Hubert has Dogberry by the horns. General uproar. ) 

I End of Third Act.] 



potter's field. 53 



ACT IV. 

Scene I. — -Hubert Fitz Simmon's private office in Lombard 
street, London. Doors in a semi-circle, labeled: "Foreign 
Agencies;" "Banking;" "Manufactures;" " Steam Navigation," 
etc., etc. The office appointments are in gorgeous style. On 
the mantle-piece, a statute of Hercules slaying the h\ dra, and 
another of Laoeoon, devoured by the serpents. 

Present: Hubert; Andrew Jackson, Hubert's colored servant, 

Hubert. I say, Andrew, certain beggars are to inquire for 
me to-day. Admit them. 
Andrew. I do, sab.. 

Hub. Sound the alarm for my private secretary. 
Andrew. Yes, sah. (Strikes and exit.) 

[Enters Cadwallader, the secretary.] 

Hub. (to secretary) . You will proceed to realize on all bills re- 
ceivable, stocks, mortgages. You will arrange preliminaries 
towards a loan of fifty rrallion pounds from the Bank of England. 
You will negotiate a credit of another fifty million pounds with 
the Kothchilds. You will advise my agents at Alexandria, 
Melbourne, Odessa and the American ports, to forestall all the 
bread stuffs to ari'ive in market, and await further orders. 

Secretary. It will be done as you have ordered. (Exit Sec. ) 

[Eiders Andrew with a squad of beggars, who act like cats in a 
strange garret.'] 

Andrew. Here are these indigent pussons, sah. ( Exit 
Andrew.) 

Hub. (with a sarcastic smile upon his countenance). Well, 
my worthy friends, what can you do for me? 

First Beggar (to second ditto). You spake to him, Dennys. 

Second Beg. (to first ditto). You spake to him, Jamy. 

First Beg. That depends a good dale on your lordship's 
needs. 

Hub. And on your talent. 

First Beg. And what does talent mean, sir? 

Hub. Your abilities. 

First Beg. And shure enough, me abilities. Me mother, 
blessed soul, that has now lain in Potter's Field since I am an 
oi-phan, wished I should be edicated for the holy apostolic 
church (crosses himself), and the de'il a bit would I git me 
catechism, and me mither said to me, on her dying bed, sir: 
" Jemy, you'll be the scape-grace of our family." 



54 potter's field. 

Chohus of Beggars. And indade, sir, it's jist what Jamy has 
come to, sir. 

First Beg. I was boren of dacent paple, sir. Me cousin, sir, 
is mayor of Dublin, sir. Me uncle — 

Hub. Yes, yes; I see you are of illustrious lineage. Your 
history would furnish material for the modern drama. But, to 
the point; what do you do for a livelihood? 

First Beg. Is it how I get me murphys, you mane? I get 
im honistly, to be shure. I am a scavinger, sir; I pick houist 
rags; cast off buttons; owld bottles, with nary drop in 'em; 
rusty iron, and giniral merchandise. I don't stale like Denuys, 
sir. Dennys is a thafe, sir. 

Second Beg. Your lordship, if he means this Denuys, Jamy 
is a liar. It's meself that's the victim of infimous slander. And 
didn't a dhurty purlice come to me, one cold morning, in Smith- 
field? an, he says: " Dennys, come wid me." Shure, thinks I, 
there's a 'cock-tail for the two of us at Mither Callaghan's— - 

(jhortts. Begorra, the blackguard, tuke him to her majisty's 
bastiie, sir. 

Second Beg. I am an abused man. 

Chorus. Indade, he is, sir. 

Second Beg. And now, here is Jamy, jist out of Newgate, 
and he says to your lordship, " Dennys is a thafe." 

First Beg. That's a— 

Hub. Very good, very good; I understand your accomplish- 
ments, perfectly. {Addressing a third party.) And you, what 
can you do? 

Third Bug. Most hauuything, at your lordship's service. 

Chorus. He is a general utility man. 

Hub. Have you ever tried the stage? 

Third Beg. Yes, sir; I played 'Amlet. The ghost was seized 
with halarm. The manager saw that wouldn't do. I was eiven 
the part of first grave-digger. I dug out poor Yorick. I 'ave 
followed digging ever since. 

Chorus. He is a body-snatcher. 

Third Beg. Grave digger to the morgue, sir. 

Hcb. You didn't play Hamlet at Drury Lane, I suppose? 

Third B'cg. No, sir, I didn't. They can't hengage me there. 

Chorus. Scrubs play at Drury Lane. 

Third Beg. (to Hubert). You never seen me in 'Amlet? 

Hub. I never did. 

Third Beg. Then your lordship never seen 'Amlet. 

" To be, or not to be, that is the question; 
" Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer, 
"The slings and arrows — " 

Hub. Never mind the rest. That will do. 
Third Beg. I am just getting worked up. You ain't a drop 
of gin about here? 'Ollaud 'elps to feel the part. 



potter's field. 55 

First B kg. ) (Jamaica. ) 

Second Beg. >■ In concert. ' Irish whisky. > Works miracles. 

Thikd Beg. ) ( 'Olland. ) 

Hub. And beggary. (Addressing a fourth party.) And yon, 
my good man, what are your abilities? 

Third Beg. (interposing). He is drunk, sir. 

Chorus. Drunkenner 'han the de'il's fiddler. 

Fourth Beg. Dbont dyou call me dhrunk — hie — I ain't 
dhruuk — hie — I takth a glath to dhrown dhrouble. 

Chorus. He puts liquor on it. 

Fourth Beg. I dhrown dhrouble, your honor — hie. 

Chorus. He colors his nose. 

Foubth Beg. Golorth me nozh — hie — no damn foolth biz- 
nushth. (Stumbles in a chair.) 

Hub. Trouble! Isn't the unavoidable heavy to steady legs? 

Fourth Beg. Dhrouble 'evy, sir. 

Hub. Not another word. (Addressing a fifth party.) And 
this fellow, what gifts does he boast of? 

Chorus. That's Lazarus, sir. 

Fifth Beg. Ah, your lordship, I am a poor man and a crip- 
ple, but the Lord feeds his lambs. 

Hub. Does he feed them in green pastures? 

Chorus. He does, sir. , 

Fifth Beg. I gets variety. Savory bits at Thompson's chop 
'ouse and the " Deer's 'orns." I don't takes to common kitchen 
fare. 

Chorus. Private families lives close, sir — no variety, sir. 

Fifth Beg. Chop 'ouse garbage is the thing. Bits to suit 
every stomach. 

Semi-chorus. Fish, flesh and fowl. 

Semi-chorus. Breakfast, dinner and supper. 

Fifth Beg. All mixed up like the mortar of Babel. You sorts 
-out to the taste, and takes your choice. 

Hub. What return do you make for this invaluable bounty? 

Fifth Beg. I shows 'em my afflictions. I 'ave a running 
sore. (Proceeds to uncover it.) 

Hub. I don't want to see it. Let it alone. 

Fifth Beg. It's a pitiful affliction, sir. It covers the 'ole 
twelve ribs on my right side. The doctor says if it is 'ealed, I 
will die. I wants to live, sir. 

Chorus. Life is sweet. 

Fifth Beg. It's all the poor man 'as in this world. I isn't 
shrived. I want to nestle in Abraham's bosom when I die. 

Hub. The patriarch has a strong stomach. I commend your 
piety, my worthy friend. (To the crowd.) Do you attend divine 
service? 

[Andrew adnnts another beggar, who, unnoticed of Hubert, j-etires 
to a secluded part of the room.] 



56 potter's field. 

Choeus. We never miss a sermon, yotir lordship. 

Hub. That's right. Don't fall away; you have every element 
of grace within you. (Raises up his hands in a mock benediction :) 
"Blessed are ye." Now, let us talk business. I have easy work 
for you, and generous pay. But you must not get drunk. 

Foukth Beg. Zfineve'r taktk another glath — hie. 

Hub. Yes, you must take another glass. I don't enjoin total 
abstinence. You shall have liquor money. 

Third Beg. That's liberal; that's what I like between man 
and man. 

Fourth Beg. I'll drink yer 'ealth — hie. 

First and Second Beg. His lordshij) is a good boss. 

Fifth Beg. It's father Abra'am 'imself. . 

Hub. (In a voice that makes them all start) . Silence! (Tlishiy.) 
You will all keep your rags; your infectious breath; your un- 
washed hands; your unshaven beard; your unkempt hair; this 
is easy. 

Chorus. That's no work at all. 

Hub. Wait a moment. More work than you suppose. You 
will, at the divine hour, congregate at the church I will designate; 
a gentleman will meet you at the door, and show each of you to 
a separate and a velvet-cushioned seat, bordering on the central 
aisle; that's easy. . 

First Bkg. ] f Can't I sit by Dennys? 

Second Beg. f In concert. J Is it thim Protestant Church, you 
] mane? 

The others. J [ Can't we take a back seat? 

Hcbert. You will rendezvous at such theatre, academy o 1 
music, lecture-room as I will advise ; and there, also, at the 
door, you will find a gentleman in broadcloth and spotless kids, 
to escort you separately to a conspicuous place, well lighted, and 
ranging on the front tiers — that's easy. 

1st Beggar. "] -g f I have no taste for them things. 

2d do. J % My ear is not edicated. 

3d do. r § ' ^ despise front tiers. 

4th do. I « | No sense nor liquor in that {hie). 

5th do. J ,£j \ Light hurts my eyes. 

Hubert. You will once a week patronize the restaurants 
where the bon ion are wont to resort ; and there, also, gentlemen 
will wait courteously on your wants — that's easy. 

1st Beggar. ] -g \ Gi' me me murph) r s. 

2d do. j g | Me appetite is not delicate. 

3d do. \ a \ I'd take my victuals in the kitchen. 

4th do. j o | Liquor (hie) is weak at your restaurant. 

5th do. J £ [ Lead me to green pastures. 

Hubert. And more of the like that easy. If you survive a 
three months' ordeal, I'll give each of you a pension. (Sounds 
the alarm for Andrew.) 



potter's field. 57 

1st Beggae. ] f Oh, we ain't the dare. 

2d do. j "g Think of the like of us in genteel company. 

3d do. ! g J We are 'umble folk. 

4th do. I o 1 A man (hie) can't do the like o' that (hie) 

a I when he is sober. 

5th do. J M [ I ixre Lazarus, I are. 

Hubert (to Andrew entering). Andrew, these tatterdemalions 
to the street. 

1st Beggar. ] f Any 'o'cloths for a poor man, sir? 

2d do. f (aside.) Every man to his calling. (Steals 

-e J sundry articles.) 

3d. do . Si Any dirty work, your lordship. 

4th . do. \- g -I [risingr.] I s'phose I must [hie] travel, or 

be kicked down the stair. 
5th do. I ^ | [To Andrew, hustling him] My affliction! 
| You hurt my affliction. You're rough 

on Lazarus. 

[Beggars are hustled out, and exit Andrew.] 
Hubert. Sololoq. Gangrened ebionims! Infectious pariahs! 
[Lights and burns a paper to purify the atmosphere.] 

This carrion effluvium would have the better of Vesuvius. 
Rotten excrescence of the body politic. A problem forever 
wanting a solution. Yet, these miserables cling to life. Wretches 
adhere to wretchedness by nature's paradox of harmony. Then 
to their hovels and their wailowings return they. Let them 
harbor life's inherent instincts for a safeguard to society. Better 
hold existence as the cast of a die, that one may play at an even 
game with the ogre. But, no courage ; no hate ; no love ; no 
inquiry for their fellow, or birthright, or cause. Nothing, noth- 
ing — save absolute poor devil. By St.. George! forty such 
brains compounded would but make the cerebelum of a Dogberry. 
(Observing a figure partially screened by the folds of the window cur- 
tain.) Didn't he take the hint? I say, why ain't you gone with 
your fellows? 

Stranger. I came alone. 

Hubert. Oh, you needn't stand on the order of your going. 

Stran. (coming forward). When a party sends for another, 
the party sent for has a right to assume that the party sending 
has something in view with the party sent for. 

Hubert. That logic is conclusive and not to be contradicted. 
Well, sir, what can you do toward my amusement. 

Stran. What would you have? 

Hubert. I want an original — a nondescript ; a man not like 
unto any other in Christendom. A man who, having talents to 
knock Plutus off his gait, will work like Hercules for a crust of 
bread. What have you followed? 



58 potter's field. 

Stkan. Outrageous fortune. 

Hubeet. What have you followed as a calling? 
• Stkan. Nothing and everything. There is hardly a country 
on the face of the globe but what I have seen ; hardly a vocation 
but what I have plied ; hardly a man of note crosses my path, 
but what I could tell something of his history. I knew you in 
America, Commodore Fitz Simmons. 

Hubeet. Indeed! What were you doing there? 

Stfan. What I had done before; what I have done since. I 
traveled great distances to seek what all can find at home. I un- 
derwent fatigue and pain to secure that which as soon secured 
was as soon thrown away. I sought that which most people 
eschew, and that which others pursue had no attraction for me. 
I know myself, sir. 

Hubeet. That's the perfection of knowledge. Why should 
you not put it to a practical use ? 

Stran. Of myself I can do nothing, and none will for me. 
Why, sir, when applying for work, I am so used to hear people 
say "no " to me, that I have begun to believe that it is precon- 
certed among the rest of mankind to test how long a man may 
starve ami not die, when every other shrug the head at him. 

Hubeet. You have the worse part of Ishmael's curse. 

Stean. It is a great gain, sir, to be a fool and know it, and 
be content to remain such. But, alas! when the consciousness 
of worth percolates through every pore in the body, how can one 
help to pereeive, and perceiving, how help to strive? Well, sir, 
what would you? 

Hubeet. You might, perhaps, be of some transitory amuse- 
ment to me. What, I would ask again, do you pursue for a 
livelihood? 

Stean. I perambulate the town: I carry travelers' buggage; 
sometimes, sacks, of coal to the grocer's customers; again, I do 
the cleaning of stables; once I got the boot-polishing at an aris- 
tocratic mansion; somehow it leaked out that I could predict lu- 
nar eclipses, and the footman was instructed to tell me that 
astronomers were inconvenient boot-blacks, and they should 
have me polish the pale face of the moon. 

Hubeet. That was a slur on astronomers. 

Stkan. Well, sir, when after the day's drudgeries, I find my- 
self alone in my attic, then — I live. I sit down and gather my 
thoughts and ponder: I have a word to say, sir, and should I 
have to leave of my heart's blood on every pavement-stone, and 
of my tears on every curb, -I would speak that word. Then 
shall I die content. 

Hubert {aside.) Heaven help the innocent! (To stranger.) 
You say you have tried more or less of everything: Have you 
ever tried the stage? 

Stkan. No, sir. I applied once at Drury Lane, but was told, 
as usual, " not wanted." 



potter's field. 51 > 

Hubert. Have yon self-confidence? 

Stran. I have. When to gain a point depends on my own 
exertions alone, I know not "fail." I have no fault in an en- 
terprise, the success of which demands the helping good-will of 
others to me. 

Hubert. I want a man for Drury Lane: an artist true to 
nature. The drama is known as the "Devil's Paradise," and 
Satan is the character I shall want you to fill. I will pay you 
ten shillings the performance, and — a benefit. Do you accept? 

Stran. {absorbed in t hov.ght. ) Satan? 

Hdbert. Satan. 

Stran. What is the drift of the play? 

Hubert. To hold up the mirror to society, and as they look 
and see themselves reflected therein, the devil says: "Ladies 
and gentlemen, this is I! " 

Stran. Must I speak the written word? 

Hubert. Here is the printed copy of the play. (Holds out a 
sheet) . 

Stran. Put away that apothecary's compound, and let me 
serve them of my own prescription. 

Hubert (with irony.) Are you the doctor? 

Stran. Aye, and not of the homeopathic school. I have 
nauseous decoctions and undisguised. The kind that have been 
given me. 

Hubert. A bitter dose? 

Stran. Aloes. Mr. Fitz Simmons, you are rich, sir, and, 
perhaps, are you wont to have servants that do a master's bid- 
ding? Sir, if you elect, I will be servant to your servant and do 
my work well; but I can imagine of no play that a rich man 
would write, that all his gold could hire me to act. Hunger 
savored with hate is of easier digestion to one of my experiences 
than the rich man's peace-offering. 

Hubert (giving stranger the sheet. ) Take this to your garret, 
and there judge of the matter for yourself. 

Stran. (holding the sheet as a mirror to Hubert.) Ladies and 
gentlemen, this is not you; it is not I; it is the Commodore. 

Hubert (somewhat amused.) Capital! Your name? 

Stran. Morino. 

Hubert. To-morow let me hear from you. Good day, Mr . 
Morino. (Hubert waves his hand and exit Morino.) Solo log. 
There is savor in that chap, and it must come out now if it ever 
will. He'll carry the play by storm, I know it; were it but to 
chafe those pampered pets of fortune, whom, I perceive, he can- 
didly hates. After that, he may, according to his temperament, 
doff his cap and horns and throw them at the property-man. 
but my spleen is ventilated. 



60 pottek's field. 

Scene II. -Caseatelle, a suburban villa of Sir Fitz Simmon's. 
A bower in the back-ground. In the foreground are to be seen 
statuary, Chinese lanterns, rare plants, etc. Time, evening. 

Present: Sir Fitz Simmons, always suffering from the dropsy. 
Lady Fitz Simmons, Miss Mack, Grospotrine, Mincebeck, 
domestic. 

Grospotrine. There is not the shadow of a doubt in my 
mind, but the new sensation in Drury Lane is a covert attack 
on the rich. " The Devil's Paradise " is an arena where the rich 
are the Numidian lions, and the poor the gladiators, and the 
gladiators are ate up by the lions. 

Sir Fitz Simmons. I believe, Grospotrine, we are all of one 
accoi-d in the view you take of it. Any one of ordinary percep- 
tion will see with half an eye that the drift of the drama caters 
to popular prejudice. 

Miss Mack. Such exhibitions are pernicious, and fundamen- 
tally wrong. Who are the rich? -the poor man's manna in the 
desert. And contemplate, for a moment, if you please, the in- 
solence of the poor. Why, sir, in whatever place of public re- 
sort the rich and the poor are brought together, did you ever 
know the poor man to concede half an inch of what he thought 
was his measure? No, sir; he stands in his two-foot square and 
the "Magna charla." 

Sir Fitz. The rich are singularly inconsistent. We complain 
that we are belied ; and an hour before the curtain lifts on the 
dramatic libel, Drury Lane is packed from parquette to dome, 
with the elite of London society. We seem to say to the man- 
ager, as we sit there in expectance: "We are sitting patiently 
for the flagellation, please be so good as to begin." 

Mincebeck. The rich, Sir Fitz Simmons — 

Sir Fitz (in accents of pain). Dobbins, Dobbins!' Where is 
the fellow gone to? (Re-enters Dobbins.) My feet, sirrah, my 
feet. (Dobbins settles down to his work.) Rub gently, I say. I 
am not a horse. You don't rub where the pain is, sir. 

Dobbins. An' if I do, your lordship gets angry. 

Sir Fitz. Who wouldn't get angry to be handled like a horse? 

Lady Fitz. Be gentle, Dobbins. (To Nellie.) Run to the 
laundry after your grandpa's warm flaunel. 

Dobbins. She needn't — and the fire is out. 

Lady Fitz. Where are the girls? 

Dobbins. Priscilla is doing the bride's maid at her cousin's 
wedding, and Bridget is having a sociable in the kitchen. I'll 
go with the flannel. (Proceeds to unwrap Sir Fitz Simmon's 
feet. J 

Sir Fitz. You rascal, don't uncover my feet. 

Dobbins (still umcrapping) . I want the rag to warm it. 

Sir Fitz. Let it alone, I say. Go to the laundry for the flan- 
nel that is there, warm it, and hurry back to me. [Exit Dobbins.] 



potter's field. . Gl 

Mincebeck. The rich, Sir Fitz Simmons- 
Miss Mack (interrupting). Domestics are so emancipated 
now-a-days that there is no putting up with them. 

Mincebeck (resuming) . The rich, Sir Fitz Simmons — 

Miss Mack. I have changed servants three times in a fort- 
night, and for the worse every time. I can endure their tyranny 
no longer. The rich are badly served. 

Geospotbine. As it will ever be the lot of those who don't 
serve themselves. 

Mince, (resuming) . The rich, Sir Fitz Simmons, 'are not so 
inconsistent as you would be pleased to infer. The rich are the 
patrons of all that is sublime and beautiful in ideal. They alone 
possess that delicate sense necessary to appreciate — 

Sib Fitz (ijroanhvj) . The gout. 

Mince. The ideal. 

Gbos. This is purely the result of cause and effect, Mr. Mince- 
beck. The rich consume the choice cuts, the generous wines, 
and, as a matter of course, the best in the material is always 
allied to the best in the ideal. England produces the fattest 
mutton and the best 'ops in the world, you know. 

Sib Fitz.. Rumor attributes the authorship of the "Devil's 
Paradise " to Commodore Fitz Simmons, the American banker 
and capitalist. For my part, I am loth to believe that a financier 
and an American would prostitute fair talents, purely to bring 
odium on a society and civilization, to which he himself more 
particularly belongs. 

Lady Fitz. There isn't a grain of truth in the rumor. A man 
with his hundreds of millions — hundreds of millions, Sir John, 
libelling the rich — absurd! 

Gkospoteine. We are not to put to the drama the serious in- 
terpretation Sir John is pleased to put on it. The theatre is 
simply an art gallery. Thus, we look with admiration, on Caesar 
slain and prostrate on the marble of (he Capitol; near the body 
a massive seat has been overturned, and on it we read: " Roma." 
All this is canvas; a conception, and a daub. Not another regi- 
cide will add his name to that of Brutus. 

Sib Fitz. I don't attach the importance of a straw to the 
drama, Mr. Grospotrine. Our insular instincts will ever uphold 
the permanence of an institution and the stability of existing 
things. Our fortunes are in the keeping of the sturdy yeo- 
manry, and the unmatched nobility of Great Britain. 

Lady Fitz. And the unmatched nobility of Great Britain! 
The dear Commodore should get a peerage. 

Mincebeck. Your remarks, Sir John, are replete with logic. 
What, indeed, can gross and brainless visionaries accomplish 
against the united brain and back-bone of the country? 

Gbos. Your visior ary would require a thorough feeding, and 
a digestion equal to the hoof and horn of the universe. 

Mince. He would require an inspiration — an idea from on 



62 . potter's field. 

high. If any man would conceive an idea, he must fast forty 
days. If he would have his idea triumph: he must go to his 
calvary. 

Gkos. Then I'll never conceive, Mr. Mincebeck. Do you be- 
lieve that the author of " The Devil's*Paradise," hungered forty 
days, sir? 

Mince. He crucified the stomach, sir. 

Lady Fitz. Nonsense, — a man of millions! 

Miss Mack, I would give something to know what the ascetic 
author of l1 The Paradise " does contemplate. 

Lady Fitz. The dear Commodore has been invited to Casca- 
tclle. He is hourly expected. 

Miss Mack. Indeed! I am delighted. I will quiz the Commo- 
dore. He will have to let me into his confidence. 

Lady Fitz. Miss MacK, please guard against any indiscretion. 
These Americans are entitled to consideration. — A. man of a 
hundred millions! 

Miss Mack. And a bachelor! 

Lady Fitz. That's the best. — Although, (in a lower voice) , I 
don't say — that — were he a peer — he would not make a very de- 
sirable son-in-law. 

Sir Fitz. {in acute agony J Dobbins! Dobbins! 

(Re-enters Dobbins with bandage.) 

Dobbins. Here it is, sir, and not too hot either. (Proceeds to 
apply the flannel to Fit z-S' feel.) 

Sin Fitz. (with a sens<dion of cold.) The cloth is cold, sir; it is 
wet, sir. Take it off instantly. (Dobbins retires to a distance, 
while Nellie approaches her grand-father, and soothes him.) 

Dobbins. A doctor that is doing Bridget's sociable, took the 
flannel out of my hands and dipped it in the pot of ale, and told 
me to apply it to your lordship's gout — it would heal it. 

Sir Fitz. Tell the fool to leave the house and bolt the door 
on him. What has a doctor to do with my servants? What 
have my servants to do with a doctor — eh? 

Dobbins. I must think the man is a doctor, sir, but I don't 
know as he is, and I don't know but he is. He said to me, " Is 
Sir Fitz Simmons at home? " 

Sir Fitz. What did you tell him? 

Dobbins. I told him that Sir Fitz Simmons was in the 
orchard, and was afflicted with the gout and company. I showed 
him into Bridget's sociable. 

Sir Firz (in pain.) Oh, my feet, my feet! You insufferable 
clown. You — (in despair.) There's no saxon for it. 

Lady Fitz. Where is Dennys? Why does he not answer the 
bell-call? 

Dobbins. Dennys, marm, is doing Bridget's sociable. 



pottee's field. 63 

A Servant Usher. Mr. Fitz Simmons of Lombard street, 
London. 

[Enters Hubert, bowing.'] 

Lady Fitz (aside ) Good heavens! the Aladdin of a hundred 
lamps! 

[Lady Fitz walks up to meet Hubert; she leads him round the cir- 
cle, introducing him.'] 

Miss Mack. Commodore, we were just canvassing your 
"Paradise," and we were all of one accord, that, since the days 
of Sinbad the Sailor, no drama of equal merit had appeared on 
the English stage. 

Hubert. Madam, you do me much honor. A drama of very 
ordinary parts may assume considerable proportions when put 
properly before the public. 

Lady Fitz. Evidently the management has used money with 
an unsparing hand. I dare say it necessitates a vast outlay to 
create such a scenic effect as "Tartarus," and to secure such a 
star as Morino. 

Hub. It takes money to make money, madam. I can assure 
you that the recei2)t is greatly in excess of the expenditure. 

Miss Mack. Pardon my curiosity; what do you pay Morino? 

Hub. The " Chronicle " says I pay him five hundred pouuds 
a representation. 

Grospotrine. Whence is this artist, Commodore? 

Hub. The " Times " says that he made his debut ten years 
ago, at Niblo's, New York. For my part I know nothing of the 
man's history, save that they buried his wife in Potter's Field, 
and he has been furious ever since. 

Gros. (aside). Potter's Field be damned; that's the house- 
hold word at the Fitz Simmon's, (To Hubert.) Why, in the 
name of decency, doesn't Morino get his wife into better com- 
pany? 

Hub. It appears somebody got the start of him. ne dis- 
covered some indications in the rear yard of a certain medical 
college; he found a tibia, a femur, and a clavicle. 

Gros. He should have expressed the indications to the valley 
of Jehosaphat. 

Miss Mack. Your impiety, Mr. Grospotrine, is shocking, 
and is only excelled by your materialism, of which it is part and 
parcel. 

Gros. Thank you for the reproof, dear madam. I shall 
henceforward trim my perpendicular by that plummet of which 
Miss Mack holds the line. 

Miss Mack. You are sarcastic, sir. 

Mince. What is your opinion of Morino, as an artist, Com- 
modore? 

Hub. Indeed, sir, I have formed no opinion. The "Post" 
says that he has the rare gift to make actual life appear an illu- 
sion, and the stage a reality. 



64 potter's field. 

Mince. That is wonderfully true. 

Miss Mack. So true, Commodore, that, on the evening that I 
attended the play, I really imagined that it was but a frog's leap 
to the infernal regions. 

Gros. (aside). A pity she didn't make the leap. 

Miss Mack. The illusion was complete. I inquired of Lady 
Fitz Simmons, who sat next to me, and looked like plaster: 
" Don't you smell brimstone?" (To Lady Fitz.) Weren't these 
the very words? 

Lady Fitz. There was certainly something in the air. 

Miss Mack. And, more than that, I recollect vividly that I 
further remarked, that, ladies in a delicate state of health should 
be denied admission. Don't you remember, Lady Fitz Sim- 
mons? 

[Sign of affirmation from Lady Fitz Simmons.'] 

Gros. (aside). Enceinte with a devil, I'll wager. 

Miss Mack. What are you all the time mumbling about, Mr. 
Grospotrine? I wish, sir, you had the ordinary good breeding 
to speak out what you have to say. 

Gkos. I quietly observed that Morino will be father to the 
next generation. 

Miss Mack. Morino, sir, is an illusionist of extraordinaay 
power . In fact, the author might well envy the artist. People 
don't say, "Have you seen 'The Devil's Paradise;'" but, 
" Have you seen Morino?" 

Mince. Morino is an artist of great promise. He is a per- 
fect idealist. The " Paradise " is a hit, Commodore. 

Hub. Financially. 

Lady Fitz. That's the all important thing with managers. 

Hub. (carelessly). Oh! yes. 

Lady Fitz. Money is a bagatelle. 

Hub. Trash; cockneys must be given something to talk 
about. I have no dog, else would I cut away his tail. I cut 
out a — puzzle. 

A. voice (vMhmd). Hurrah for Oxford! Hurrah! 

Lady Fitz. The children are home from the ride. 'Tis so 
pleasant to ride out moonlight evenings. 

[Enter Godfrey, Drusilla and Nellie.] 

Godfrey (boisterously) . Splendid! Mother, you should have 
been there. 

Lady Frrz. And the Commodore? 

Godfrey. Ah, Commodore, right happy to see you look so 
well after your accident. 

Hub. (shakes hands with Godfrey, and salutes the girls). A small 
affair. 

Godfrey. A dem small affair — only a ship stove all to thun- 



potter's field. 65 

der. Commodore, you should have seen me a minute since. 
Splendid! splendid! (To Lady Fitz.) Imagine, mother, a turn- 
pike just twenty-two feet wide; a carriage and four three lengths 
ahead; I cry to Flash and Fizzle, "Flash and Fizzle, now to your 
mettle, and hurrah for Oxford!" Madam, I lash them to the 
work; ah, didn't we do it, though? The hubs touched, the 
sparks flew, and so did the off fore wheel of the carriage and 
four. I lost three spokes, just three, but what of that — I had 
done it, I was ahead. Ah, Commodore, your American is a 
good nag, but he ain't the bottom, you know. 
A Servant. The collation is served. 

[Lady Fitz gives the nod to Drusilla. Drusilla walks up modestly, 
and stands at a respectful distance from Hubert. Miss Mack close 
on the other side of Hubert.'] 

Sir Fitz. The company will please retire to the bower and 
recuperate. Dobbins, bring up my sedan. 

[Dobbins rolls up a two-icheel sedan and gets Sir Fitz into it. He 
propels it.] 

Mince. .Refresh the immortal mind. (Offers his arm to Lady 
Fitz.) 

Gros. Do homage to the worshipful stomach. (Escorts 
Nellie.) 

Lady Fitz. (aside, looking at Miss Mack). "What is that old 
maid after ? Why doesn't she go about her business? 

[Exeunt Drusilla et omnes, except Hubert and 3Iiss Slack.] 

Miss Mack. "Won't you write me a play, Commodore? a cast 
in which I might take the leading part. I have a passion for 
the stage. I would immensely relish to snub the rich. 

Hubert. I don't dramatize witches, madam. 

Miss Mack. No, not a witch. Give me an heiress who is 
love-struck with a poor young man, much to the mortification of 
her rich relations. 

Hubert. Marries Peter, the coachman, and takes in washing 
for a livelihood. 

Miss Mack. Oh, no, that's stupid. I want the romantic. 
She marries the poor young man. Pa and ma die of chagrin. 
The poor young man turns up a scamp, robs her of her patri- 
mony, and runs away with a paramour. She says, "All right," 
and don't you see the rich are snubbed. 

Hubert. I don't see it. 

Nellie (re-entering). Grandpa sends his invitation and a 
message, to betake yourselves and your social chat to the bower. 

Miss Mack (holding oid her arm to Hubert, icho does not offer, 
aside.) He doesn't budge. I'l send Drusilla for him. (Exit.) 

[Hubert remains standing, looking at Nellie in a pensive mood.] 



66 potter's field. 

Nellie. Why don't you go, sir ; they are waiting for you, 
Are you not well? 

Hubert. I am well. I had rather remain. (Sits himself 
down, and Nellie sits herself close to him.) 

Nellie.- Why this sad look. Did Miss Mack offend you ? 
She is a hateful old thing. 

Hubert. The lady has not offended me. Nellie, you are a 
good girl. ( Takes her hand and carries it to his lips.) 

Nellie. I am not good ; but I don't like to see people sad. 

[Hubert is silent, and writes with his cane on the ground.'] 

You have written iny name. It is also the name of my grand- 
ma, who is dead. (She takes the cane and writes.) See, I have 
written my father's name — his name is Hubert. I am an or- 
phan. Grandpa, grandma, and aunt Drusilla are very good to 
me. You must talk to Drusilla, and get acquainted. You will 
will love her. Everybody loves her. 

Drusilla. (re-entering). Ah, Miss Flirtation ! now I have 
caught you. What will Mr. Grospotrine say? Nellie, Mr. Fitz 
Simmons, is Mr. Grospotrine's favorite. Come to the bower, 
sir. We are waiting for you. 

Hubert. Please, Miss Drusilla, apologize for me. I choose 
to be here. 

Nellie. Mr. Fitz Simmons doesn't feel at home in company. 
I'll go and fetch the best I can find on the board. 

[Exit Nellie, singing. 1 

" The horned owl sat on th' ancient tower, 

The moon shone on fen and forest. 
The horned owl spied in rustic bower 

A lone birdling in the rook's nest. 
The horned owl poised him on the air, 

To whit! to whoo! in the forest. 
He struck the air with his feather, 

But spared the birdling and the nest." 

Hubert. A sweet voice. 

Drusilla. Melodious as the nightingale's, and wild as the 
lark's. Nellie is called the songstress of Cascatelle. 

Hubert (observing the plants). You have a rare collection of 
plants. I notice representatives from every zone (denoting an 
orange tree). This is the first orange bearing tree I have seen in 
England. 

Drusilla. The orange tree seldom matures eatable fruit in 
our cold climate. This one is a scion from India. I have had 
much care expended upon it. The gardener says the fruit is 
matured. (Ovllsan orange and presents it to Hubert.) 

Hubert (refusing) Thank you, I do not fancy oranges. 



potter's field. G7 

Dktt. We will divide. Let us say, at least, that we have 
eaten an orange in England. (Peels it and offers half.) 

Httbebt (tasting.) It is bitter; it is gall. (Throws it away.) 

Deu. Singular. I fiml it quite sweet. An orange from 
Sicily could not be sweeter than this one. 

Hub. Sweeter things than this grow, mature and decay, uu- 
tasted of mortal lips. 

Duu. Pray, not in England? 

Hub. Yes, in England! and. of these things, is charity. Were 
I a woman, lovely and beautiful, I would take that tree and its 
vain harvest; I would sell it, and the proceeds I would place at 
interest, that I might one day buy me a deceut burial. 

Deu. What matters, sir, the burial, so we live and die in the 
promise of a resurrection? 

Hubeet. It matters much. 'Tis not good to abide in limbo. 
And how know you, that, when of these vain things you shall 
have survived the possession, your soul goes not to hades, and 
your body — to Potter's Field? 

Deu. The pits of Potter's Field, sir, may yield up more per- 
sons found righteous at the day of Judgment than the naairsole- 
ums of Norwood. 

Hubeet. I don't believe it, I don't believe it. Paupers are a 
damnable set. 

Deu. Oh, take back this horrid sentiment. Take it back 
sir. 

Hubeet. It is my conviction. If it offends, I take it back. 

Deu. If, through our parish, you will accompany me on the 
Thursday of any week, I will show you my proteges, and you 
will see people poor, but worthy. 

Hubeet. Your Thursdays are not in keeping with your exot- 
ics, your carriages, your cameos, your lace, your gew-gaws of 
every pattern. 

Deu. Think not, sir, that such things are the sum total of 
the woman of fortune : These are vanities that men require of 
her; and, perhaps too willingly, she makes the concession. 
But, indeed, what a relief it is to us to break away from these 
trappings and trurnperies, and contemplate ourselves for a poor 
moment, as we really are. If, perchance, in our goings and 
comings, we meet a mother's imploring look; an infant hand held 
out in suppliance; we j^ause, we reflect, and, giving the child a 
penny, we thank God that we have yet something in common 
with the lowly of our sex. (Nellie re-entering.) Why, child, 
what has delayed you so long? 

Nellie. Mr. Grospotrine is all to blame for it. He hid away 
the. grapes and I had to seek for them. When I was near 'em, 
he'd cry "cold!" and then, when I was far away he'd cry 
"hot!" But I found them anyhow, and I selected the finest 
cluster for Mr. Fitz Simmons. (She tenders him the plate.) 

Hubeet (refusing.) Thank you, Nellie. I never eat grapes. 



68 pottee's field. 

Nellie. Why, Mr. Fitz Simmons, they are fresh from the 
vineyards of France, and very fine, I assure you. 

Dru. Mr. Fitz Simmons does not like grapes, or, perhaps, he 
may have the English prejudice for things not of home. 

Nellie. Here is a tart, of which the cream, the butter, the 
fruit, are all of Cascatelle. 

Hubert. Pastry lies heavy on one's stomach, at night. 

Nellie (serious.) Oh, now, you are too bad. What can I do 
for you? 

A Servant (entering with a tray). Miss Mack sends Commo- 
dore Fitz Simmons this toast. " In the generous cup of Casca- 
telle we drown the night-mare of Drury Lane! " 

Hubert (to servant.) Return my compliments to Miss Mack. 
I do not touch wine. 

[Exit servant, quaffing the whole. ] 
[Hubert takes Nellie's hand in his, and after a pause, to Dru:~\ 

Please apologize to Sir Fitz Simmons and company: I have 
an appointment in London, and must take the 10 o'clock train; 
good evening. (Draws Nellie to him, and in a low tone:) Good 
night, Nellie; my own sweet darling, good night. (Exit.) 

Dru. What an incomprehensible man. (Reflecting for a mo- 
ment.) That's Hubert! It is your father, Nellie! 

(They both 7-ush toward the boicer crying out: " My father!" 
" Hubert! " Re-enters company with commotion) . 



Scene III. — Spectacular Catacombs of the "Modern Order of 
Levelers." This is a subterranean concave with sombre ap- 
pointments, and bearing resemblance to a stone quarry. On the 
back ground is read the motto, "We level." The performance 
is conducted in a solemn style. 

Dramatis Persona?. Hubert, as Sublime Dignitary of M. 0. 
O. L., Dreadnought (Morino as applicant for initiation. Mem- 
bers of the Order, masked and clad in flowing, black robes. 

Steward of the Wicket (to Sublime Dignitary) . A suppliant 
knocketh at the wicket. 

Sublime Dignitary. What craveth he? 

Steward. To your presence be let. 

Sub. Dig. Whence cometh he? 

Steward. From the world without. 

Sub. Dig. Whatycleped? 

Steward. In the catacombs; "Dreadnought." 

Sub. Dig. Hath he sponsors? 

Two Levelers (rising). For him do we vouch. 

Sub. Dig. What his credentials? 



potter's field. 69 

TwoL. He hateth the rich. 

Chords. He sowed: 

Two L. Ravens the seed ate greedily. 

Chorus. He planted: 

Two L. Thorns about grew lustily. 

Chorus. Hebuilded: 

Two L. The blast now blew furiously. 

Chorus. He loved: 

Two I j. His heart ravished, bled sorely. 

Sub. Dig. A Leveller! 

Chorus. Rich and great he'll spare not. 

Sub. Dig. To the Catacombs. 

Chorus. Welcome we Dreadnought! 

[Dreadnought is admitted, blindfolded.] 

Sub. Dig. (To D.) Suppliant, the motive of this Order is to 
level; wovdds't thou be Leveler? 

Dreadnought. Tarquinius, no better Leveler than I. He 
leveled tulips; I — would the tall pine. 

Sub. Dig. The high, we cut down; the low, exalt not. 

Dread. Is the essential thing that suits Dreadnought. 

Sub. Dig. Hast thou courage? 

Dread. For designs dark and ill. 

Sub. Dig. Dost thine heart fester? 

Dread. And must fester still. 

Sub. Dig. Dost thy breast burn? 

Dread. With hatred to Nabob. 

Sub. Dig. Woulds't make common cause? 

Dread. "With ye and Beelzebub. 

Sub. Dig. (to steward). Steward of the cup, haste to thy 
ministry. 

Steward of the Cup (toD.). Drink this fill, and, as thou 
hast verity, so be the draught to thy palate bitter, or a pleasant 
taste if sweetest water. (1). drinks.) 

Sub. Dig. (to steward) Steward of the seal, our brother's sight 
restore. 

Steward of the Seal (unblindfolds D.). Behold the dread 
Catacombs evermore. 

Sub. Dig. (to steward). Steward of the grip, initiate our 
brother. 

Steward of the Grip (gives D. the grip). Thus we take the 
hand of a Leveler. 

Sub. Dig. (to steward). Steward of the wardrobe, shroud the 
needy. 

Steward of the Wardrobe (furnishes D. a robe and badge) . 
Like thy brethren clad in humility. 

Sub. Dig. The brethren will welcome the new member. 

[ They form in a circle, joining hands.'] 



70 potter's field. 

Bkethren. This chain encompasseth the rich. 
Chorus. Ever! 

Dread. This link shall not, from this circle, 
Chorus. Sever! 

[ A place of honor is assigned to the new member.'] 

Sub. Dig. Foreign communications next in order. 
Steward of the Portfolio. From the Shiek of Assassins, 
stylet. And Assim adds the prayers of the prophet. 
Sub. Dig. Any motion? 
Dread. Sublime Dignitary: 

To a novice 'tis not ordinary 
To lead in debate. I should be silent, 
Lest I might pass for an impertinent. 
True zeal spurns a bound; let me beg pardon 
For being foremost in moving a motion. 
All praise to Assim the venerable! 
But there is uought that this hand is not able 
To execute as well as Assassin. 
I move, we ballot t'elect a headsman, 
Whose it shall be the ecstasies of blood, 
When the Catacombs launch the awful word. 
Sub. Dig. The motion is — 
A Leveler. I second the motion. 
Sub. Dig. Debatable. Sirs, for admonition, 

I would say, let's not hurry business, 
And, unprepared, reap the price of rashness. 
Go ye to the serpent, and learn of it, 
The time to sting, and when patience is fit. 
Sweeten the eager hours of expectance 
With harmless antidotes and forbearance. 
Eschew midnight terrors; haste put away. 
Whate'er ye do, do in the light of day, 
That the blazing sun may illuminate 
A second chaos, and forms inchoate. 
Dread. — 

With all respect I would be inquiring: 
Are levelers the millenium abiding? 
Supine to the burnings of intense hate: 
Prompt to turn up a face sheep's eyes innate. 
If chahngs tempered with meek sufferance 
A virtue is, then hence to repentance 
And to prayer. Levelers, whom on roses sleep, 
Tears and thorns lacerate not skin deep. 
Chorus. Motion. 
Sub. Dig. — 

A headsman, moved and seconded, 
To the catacombs be now appointed. 



potter's field. 71 

Chorus. Dreadnought. 

Sub. Dig. — 

Elected unanimously. {To Steward.) 

Steward of the sword, invest him fittingly. 

[ The Steward presents D. with a ponderous double-edged ax. D. 
receives it, and standing in his place, holds it.'] 

The meet recompense of iniquity. 
Chorus. Of justice the emblem. 
Dread. So mought it be. 
Sub. Dig. (reswning) Unfinished business. 
A Leveler.- - 

Sublime conclave! 

Names of suspicious aspect I would haye 

Proscribed and added to the headsman's list. 

I name Fitz Simmons, the capitalist! 
Sub. Dig. What Fitz Simmons? 
A Leveler. Th' American banker. 
Sub. Dig. — 

That Fitz Simmons is a right good leveler; 

To the good cause he devotes his talents. 
Dread. — 

To the Sublime Word be all reverence. 

Eight well I know Commodore Fitz Simmons, 

Though little enough his liberal millions. 

To the marrow of the poor the substance 

He sucks, and increases in corpulence. 

A vampire on the earth, he seeks to devour 

The lean and the fat, the rich and the poor. 
Chorus. Let him be proscribed. 
A Leveler. — 

Headsman, take the name. 
Chorus. We will it. Motion! 
A Leveler. — 

Why looks he (Sub. Dig.) so tame? 
Sub. Dig. — 

You will it? I resign. Elect your man. 
A Leveler.— 

Viva voce, Dreadnought I name. 
Chorus. Headsman! 

[Sub. Big. descends from the tribune, and Dread, takes the 
vacated place. ] 

A Leveler. Time and manner for the execution? 

Ano. Lev. Meet at our next, for consideration. 

Ano. Lev. With the "herald of wrath" rest the programme. 

Ano. Lev. With the " draughtsman of the level diagram." 

Ano. Lev. Or with the " breeder of civil discord." 



72 pottee's field. 

Ano. Lev. The " nurse of convulsions." 
Ano. Lev. I move, accord 

For Lord Mayor's day a slight irritation. 
Ano. Lev. I second the motion. 
Dread, (as Sub. Big.) Heard the motion? 
Chorus. Lord Mayor's day. 
Dread. Carried. Let us adjourn 

On time. Sing the "Dies Irae,'' brethren. 

[ They sing.'] 

[As they chant, all, except Hubert, from whom the vesture falls, 
sloirty descend into the earth, the accents dying aicay after they have 
entirely disappeared.] 

[Selections from Psalms LVIII, XCIV, CXL. The objective 
slightly altered from the plural to the singular number. ] 

" 0, Lord God, to whom vengeance belongeth ; 

O, God, to whom vengeance belongeth, show thyself. 
Lift up thyself, thou Judge of the Earth ; 
Render a reward to the proud. 

Dies irae, dies ilia! 

" Lord, how long shall the wicked, 
How long shall the wicked triumph? 
How long shall he utter and speak hard things? 
And the worker of iniquity boast himself? 

Dies irae, dies ilia ! 

" He breaks in pieces thy people, Lord, 
And afflicts thine heritage. 
He slays the widow and the stranger, 
And murders the fatherless. 

Dies irae, dies ilia! 

"Let him melt away as waters which run continually. 
When he bendeth his bow to shoot his arrows, 
Let them be as cut in pieces; 
As a snail which melteth, let him pass away. 

Dies irae, dies ilia! 

" Let burning coals fall upon him. 
Let him be cast into the fire — 
Into deep pits, that he rise not up again. 
Verily, there is a God that judgeth the earth. 

Dies irae, dies ilia ! ' 

[Hubert appears in ordimiry dress. He walks to and fro, much 
stupified.] 



potter's field. 73 

Hubert, (solo loq.) Whence are these sounds? I was not 
alone. Whither have these men retired ? The levellers? I 
know not such. Never before — save Morino — saw I one of 
them. (Looking on the surroundings.) A creation of the de- 
luded sense! A stone quarry! Ah, yes, I remember. I was on 
the way to the railway station, and, absorbed in thought, I for- 
got myself for an instant in the shadow of yonder ledge. (.A 
locomotive is heard.) The train is coming in at the station. 
Away from the land of dreams! Away to London! To reality, 
away! [Exit.] 

I End of Fourth Act.] 



ACT V. 

Scene I. — (Same as Scene I, Act IV 1 ). 
Present: Andrew Jackson, the colored servant. 

Andrew. Solo loq. (Dusting and putting things in order. ) I'd 
like right well to be rich — rich as the Commodore. (Laughing.) 
Hi-yaw, hi-yaw. hi-yaw. The idea tickles a colored pusson. 
Only think of a gemman who can pay money down for every- 
thing he sees — and that gemman were Massa Jackson. Hi-yaw, 
hi-yaw, hi-yaw. (Sits down, his back to the door.) Unques- 
tionably, a colored pusson has the inalienable right to suppose 
what he pleases, and I am pleased to suppose that this colored 
pusson was the gemman. I'll suppose furthermore — and I have 
a right to suppose furthermore — that on a foggy morning the 
governor of the Bank of England comes to me, and he says: 
" Massa Jackson, I reckon it draws near to coffee and fried fish 
lend me a shilling." — I says: "Governor, yoii can have a mil- 
lion just like a shilling, only name it." Then I ring (sounds the 
alarm J — I have a right to ring for my private secretary, and 
I says, (enters Cadwallader, unseen of Andrew.) Cadwallader, 
debit the governor for a shilling. 

Cadwallader. What's the matter? Has Andrew lost his lati- 
tude? Who rang the bell, and who are you talking to? 

Andrew. I beg pardon, Massa Cadwallader. Have got lati- 
tude and longitude mixed up. I was rehearsing the Commodore's 
coming sensation: "The Bank of England for a Shilling. " Hi- 
yaw, hi-yaw; hi-yaw! 

Cad. It's lucky for you, Cadwallader is not the Commodore 
or it might be " Andrew for a place and a shilling." (Exit Cad.) 

Andrew [resuming the duster) solo log. I like Cad., Cad. is a 
clever pusson. Why ain't clever pussons rich — that's what I 



74 potter's field. 

want to know. I'm clever. But puff my eyes if ever I saw the 
Commodore clever. There's never a smile on his phiz, and his 
pile is never done gone. If, for instance, he ain't got quite the 
millions to buy the Queen's plantations, what does he do? he 
goes to the bank and they say: "Help yourself, Commodore, 
only leave a guinea to meet current calls, you know! and the 
Commodore helps himself. Now, that's what I call right 
satisfactory. What's the reason they wouldn't talk like that to 
me? Jackson is quite as euphonius as Fitz Simmons. Look at 
me; I am as personable as Fitz Simmons. Fitz Simmons moves 
in a Lombard atmosphere, so moves Massa Jackson. Fitz Sim- 
mons taps the bell and gemmen answer to the call. Massa 
Jackson taps the bell (rings) — blast the luck, if I ain't — Hi-yaw, 
hi-yaw, hi-yaw. (Appears unother secretary). 

Secretary. Did Mr. Fitz Simmons call? 

Andrew. No, sah, it was — Massa — Jackson. 

Sec. What does it mean? 

Andrew. The duster inadvertently touched the alarm. (Exit 
secretary) . 

Solo loq. I'll go to Guinea, if to be Massa Jackson is to be 
Massa Fitz Simmons. How would the Commodore have an- 
swered that insufferable nigga? (Assumes a commanding air). 
So-and-so, speed to Stamboul and examine into the Sublime 
Turk's ability to pay. ( The hall bell rings.} Speed down stairs, 
Massa Jackson Hi-yaw, hi-yaw, hi-yaw! (Exit and re-eiders, 
leading the way to Drusilla and Nellie.) Massa Fitz Simmon's 
business hours are invariably from 10 a. m. He will soon be 
in. — As punctual as a person you don't want to see. {Offers 
chairs to the ladies.) Make yourselves at home, ladies. (Offers 
tin in a paper, Would you like to see the " Leveler? " 

Drusilla. I would rather inquire into your master's dispo- 
sition toward public charities? 

Andrew. I have seen him receive indigent pussons, ma'am. 
None ever went away rejoicing. 

Dru. Then, perhaps, we had better not present our claims. 

Andrew. What claims, ma'am? 

Dru. An appeal in behalf of the suffering poor. 

Andrew. Not to him. 

Dru. To whom? 

Andrew. Perhaps to me. 

Dru. Would you contribute? 

Andrfw (gallantly.) I never refuse the ladies. Hi-yaw. hi- 
yaw, hi-yaw. (Presents Dru. with apiece of money.) 

Dau. (taking out her memorandum book.) What is your name? 

Andrew. Massa Jackson, of Lombard street, — they call me 
Andrew. 

Dru. Mr. Jackson, might I inquire, if from hearsay or from 
your own knowledge, you could tell us anything of Mr. Fitz 
Simmon's biography. 



potter's field. 75 

Andrew. The biography of his life, I suppose? (.4 nod of 
assent from Drusilla.) I don't know but I can. (Takes a. seat 
opposite the ladies, and weighs his words.) Ahem. Fitz Simmons, 
I bc'g leave to remark, is the son of Simmons, and it is not less 
like as not, that the son of Simmons is again the son of Fitz 
Simmons (mark of surprise from the ladies); or O'Siminons, or 
MacSmimons, or any Simmons you please — that's what I learn 
in Worcester's wocabulary of proper names. Ahem. Massa 
Fitz Simmons, then is of uncertain genealogy, or, perhaps, 
which is not less like as not— and you take your choice he was 
born an " accident of circumstance," and, like any " accident of 
circumstance " to a Fitz. He was whitewashed " Commodore" 
by way of distinction. Ahem. It is not recorded that he ever 
married; or, what is not less like as not, he did marry, and there- 
of grew out, as is usually the case, an awersion for matrimony. 
We are not learned in the matter of population, but we must 
suppose that he was not above the commission of irreparable 
damages. Ahem. His habits of life would make every naturalist 
take the other by the forelock. None could put him in the class 
where he belongs, and no man living knows what he eats. No 
lawyer could establish that he sleeps with his eye-lids closed or 
open; for nobody ever caught him napping- that's what's the 
matter— and I conclude, that, if any one can s iy: " I know the 
Commodore," he knows more than this colored pusson ever ex- 
pects to know. (Rises.) Hi-yaw, hi-yaw, hi-yaw. Excuse me, 
ladies; ten o'clock and Massa Fitz Simmons are drawing near. 
I must to my post. Hi-yaw, hi-yaw, hi-yaw. (Exit Andrew.) 

Dru. Guard yourself, Nellie, to b -tray our secret suspicion. 

Nellie. My heart throbs. I wonder if he is my father. Do 
you really know he is, Drusilla? 

Dru. Why, child, how do you suppose I know? The indica- 
tions warrant the belief; that's the utmost. 

Nellie. Why don't you ask him if he is? Tell him I want 
to know. 

Dru. Too much indiscretion on our part would damage our 
chance of ever learning it. We must use strategy. If my female 
instincts do not fail me, I shall notice the evidence of emotion 
within, of embarrassment without; for, after all, Mr. Fitz Sim- 
mons must be a human being, more or less like any other. 

[Enter Hubert.] 

Hubert. Good morning, Miss Drusilla, how are they of my 
honorable friend's household this Thursday morning? (Noticing 
NeVie.) How now, sweet warbler! Cascatellein Lombard street. 
The note of the nightingale drowned in the cawing of the buz- 
zard? Laborers are seen at an early hour in the Lord's vine- 
yard. 

Dru. 'Twere not early at ten. We are in the vineyard with 
the sun. 



76 potter's field. 

Hub. To catch the poor's matin song? It is a melancholy 
note. 

Dru. No sweeter music than gratitude's "TeDeum." The 
worker has his rewai'd, sir; one day's work in the vineyard 
makes sjeven of paradise. [Taking out her note book.'] Please, 
Mr. Fitz Simmons, what shall I write you down for? 

Hub. Write me anunconverted. Miss Drusilla, show me your 
poor man, and I'll show you an arrant knave. You, girls, are 
sentimental; well, I like sentiment. Sentiment is very beauti- 
ful; and, certainly, I honor it in the Lord's almoner. But tell 
me candidly, would you cast your bread upon the waters without 
the promise of its return to you again? You don't understand 
me; allow me the interpretation. We will imagine an original 
who denies everything which affirms your good curate of St. 
Giles. We will imagine that he meets your poor man; that, un- 
seen of mortal eyes, and without a thought or a hope of a re- 
ward, this original gives his coat, gives his purse, and sees your 
poor man never more. What, I ask, would you think of that 
individual? 

Dku. That he was worthy of commendation. 

Hub. No, not I; I don't think so. The man is a fool; or, if 
not a fool, he is unintelligible. The practical mind condemns 
the principle. The venture is hazardous, unprofitable, and 
sensible persons won't take stocks. I won't. Why should I in- 
vest a shilling in a scheme that purports my loss, and another's 
gain? 

Deu. Not your loss, sir. 

Hub. My loss, positively. I give of my substance to your 
poor man, who can make no return in this life, and pays me 
nothing in the other. I can't see where my gain comes in. 

Dru. Giving impoverishes not the giver, but makes the heart 
rich, indeed. 

Hub. Your philosophy is good to die with. It is a pity that 
the universal care of self, prevalent in our year of grace, forbids 
to live by it. 

Deu. Then, Mr. Fitz Simmons will give me nothing? 

Hub. I'll give conditionally. 

Dru. What are your conditions? (Lays her note book on the 
table.) 

Hub. Yow will bestow what I shall give you solely on indi- 
gents of a perverse nature, and on such alone as have the candor 
to own up to it.— -You'll not find the united conditions in any 
parish, I assure you. 

Deu. The perverse are not of God's household. 

Hub. Are they not the more objects of the eharitables' com- 
miseration? Not much merit for them, on whom Miss Drusilla 
and a partial Providence look down with a tender eye, not to 
take God's name in vain. We are all creatures of inexorable 
circumstance: I will take your honorable nature, whose glory is 



potter's FIELD. I i 

its manly independence and its supreme contempt for time- 
servers; or, again, I will take your virtuous nature, whose pride 
is its immaculate purity, and I will, I say, bring the screw to 
bear upon them and they shall flex in the back. I'll put on more 
pressure and they shall weaken in the knees. And another turn, 
(describing a circle), and they shall be seen huddling into your 
eleemosynary pew at St. Giles. And, a little more pressure, and 
they shall sell their Lord for thirty coppers and buy them an 
interest in Judas' purchase. 

Dim. God help your nncharitabieness. (Exeunt Dru. and 
Nellie). 

Hub. (after a momentary pause, solo loq.) Here truly is the 
poesy of well-doing. Well, well! Put the screw down on her; 
give it just one turn, and what is now an angel of purity, be- 
comes a person of questionable character. Oh, inexorable cir- 
cumstance — oh, thou inexorable screw of this most self-compla- 
cent civilization turn gently on the girl, and my own sweet Nel- 
lie bruise not; but on me turn on and let it grate! (Observing 
Nellie on the stair-case in the act of re-entering, he experiences emo- 
tion: he places his hard on his lejt breast, aud apostrophises the 
heart:) Be composed thou nature's earnest advocate! I have a 
cause; for that cause beat on. 

[Nellie re-enters. ] 

Nellie. Mr. Fitz Simmons, have you noticed Miss Stough- 
tenborough's note book in the apartment? 

Hub. I have not, Nellie. Nothing lost here but what is found 
again. (Aids in the search, and finding it returns it to Nellie. ) How 
do you and Drusilla propose to spend the coming holy-day? 

Nellie. Lord Mayor's day? (Assent from Hubert,) I shall ride 
in the car. I am to be one of the group in the "Merchant's 
guild." Drusilla will spend the day with Miss Mack. 

Hub. I should think you would spend the day in the country. 
London pageants are such hackneyed things. 

Nellie. I must think no more of "Ocean View," nor of 
" Cascatelle." They were sold last week: The " Sylvan Cave," 
the "Echo," all went, (sighs.) 

Hub. (affecting surprise.) Ah! (Takes her hand in his.) Do 
not ride in the car. 

Nellie. Why not? 

Hub. There's witchcraft in it. 

Nellie. I never heard of that before. 

Hub. I have. I wouldn't ride in the Lord Mayor's pageant. 
I would be sure to lose my best friend on the ninth following 
Friday. 

Nellie. You frighten me. What for did you tell me that? 

Hub. Because it is the certain truth. Hear the legend: 

" On ye Lord-maire's day, 
"In ye pageant she rid. 



78 pottee's field. 

' ' On ye sad ninth Friday, 
" Ye would her lover hid." 

Nellie. I Lave no lover. 

Hub. It makes no difference. 

Nellie. Do you believe legends are truthful? 

Hub. I believe everything that is ancient. Falsehood is of 
modern date. 

Nellie. I feel strangely. I must hurry down. 

Hub. No, stay. How would you like to be my errand boy? — 
nothing more than to carry messages to my clerks. 

Nellie. Oh, fie! What would people say? 

Hub. That Nellie was the prettiest errand boy in London. 

Nellie. I had rather remain grand-pa's girl. (Moves toward 
the door) . 

Hub. Wait a moment. How would you prefer to be my 
secretary? — you would read letters to me. 

Nellie. Dull reading, that. 

Hub. You would read but the gay. 

Nellie. Then, I fear, I'd read none at all. Oh, but I must 

go- 
Hub. Don't go; stay. ( Drawing her close to him.) 
Nellie. (Sinys: Air, " I'll pray for thee," Lucia di Lammer- 
moor.) 

" Ask me not now to linger; 

"From thy hand, mine would sever; 

" In thy courts my heart is sad, 

" For tbine own is never glad. 

" Nought inspires my melody; 

' ' Nought whispers heaven is near ; yet, would I pray, 

" Though none should hear. For thee I'd pray. 

"To thee I'd sing; my melody I'd sing for thee, 

" I'd e'er, e'er sing, and pray for thee. 

{Breaks away from him, and exit.'] 
Hub. Nellie! Nellie! 

{He reclines on a sofa, resting his forehead on his arm. J 
{Enter Sir Fitz Simmons, borne in a sedan by three attendants.'] 

Sib Fitz (waving his hand). Good morning, Commodore. 

Hub. (carelessly). Good morning, Sir John. 

Sir Fitz. Not well this morning? 

Hub. (rising) . Financially well; physically well. A little foul 
in other respects. 

Sik Fjtz. Commodore, my promises to pay, which you hold, 
have matured, and I have come to erave an extension of time. 

Hub. (standing square on his feet before the three attendants). 
Have I business with Sir Fitz Simmons or his valets? Help his 



POTTEK'S FIELD. 79 

lordship into a seat; take that furniture below, and wait there 
till your master needs your muscle. (The attendants assist Sir 
Fitz into a chair, and exeunt.) (To Sir Fitz.) You have the 
customary three days, my lord. 

Sir Fitz. Impossible to meet my obligations inside of ninety. 

Hob. I must protest. 

Sir Fitz. I will make any sacrifice you name to get the time 
extended. 

Hub. Make me a bond, secured against loss, and bearing an 
indemnity, and I will entertain your request. 

Sir Fitz. I will give you signatures, backed by a reputation 
of thirty years' standing. Mr. Grospotrine — 

Hub. Has failed. 

Sir Fitz. Has failed? When matters shall have been cleared 
up, it will be seen that his assets will cover — 

Hub. He secured to me liabilities for the grain and flour he 
bought. 

Sir Fitz. I advanced him money for his flour purchase. Mr. 
Grospotrine had contracted with — 

Hub. An agent of mine. 

Sir Fitz. Certain parties to deliver a hundred thousand bar- 
rels of American flour, at a specified price, place, arid time. 
Meanwhile prices went up, and he paid treble the consideration 
that he was to receive. But, sir, British honor, you know, goes 
before — 

Hub. Bankruptcy. 

Sir Fitz. Before personal interest. It would seem as if the 
breadstuff's of Christendom had been forestalled by — 

Hub. Jobbers in famine. 

Sir Fitz. Speculators of extraordinary foresight. And the 
people must eat— 

Hub. Or get ravenous. 

Sir Fitz. Must eat; for to eat is to live, and not to eat is to 
die. 

Hub. It took me years to study that out. 

Sir Fitz. You are my sole creditor. Every other claimant I 
have silenced. To that end, I have conveyed away " Ocean 
View " and " Cascatelle." 

Hub. I have the deed. 

Sir Fitz. I have mortgaged my town property. 

Hub. I hold the bond . 

Sir Fitz. I owe you a total of three hundred — 

Hub. And fifty-two thousand two hundred and fifty pounds, 
ten shillings and eight pence. 

Sir Fitz. Correct. Of which, about one half is now due — ■ 

Hub. And which you cannot pay. 

Sib Fitz. It is impossible for me to lift the notes at the 
present time. Confidence is shaken; money is locked up; and 
a crisis is imminent. With an extension, I can ride out the 
storm, and keep clear of bankruptcy. 



80 pottee's field. 

Hub. I must protest. 

Sib Fitz. Grant me thirty clays. I can, in that time, realize 
on my — 

Hub. "Baker's Loan Association." 

Sir Fitz. On my benevolent stocks. What do you say? 

Hub. (standing stiff on his feet) . Nothing. 

Sir Fitz. Could you not accomodate me? 

Hub. Business knows not " accomodate." (Sits down.) 

Sir Fitz. Then notbing but my dishonor will satisfy the 
Commodore. 

Hub. Honor your pledges to the Commodore, and he is 
satisfied. 

Sir Fitz (excited.) But, my dear good man, I tell you it is 
utterly impossible for me to raise one tenth part of the amount 
inside of thirty days. 

Hub . Impossibilities are not more stubborn than creditors. 

Sir Fitz. Then I must resign mysclf- 

Hob. To stubborn exigency. 

Sir Fitz (in a state of mental agitation.) You were yet unborn, 
Mr. Fitz Simmons, that my name stood high on 'Change and 
my signature was sought for at a premium in every mart of the 
commei-cial world. In my ante-chambers waited the ambassa- 
dors of money-borrowing princes. Once, sir, in my experience, 
I came forward with my millions and checked a panic that 
threatened the existence of many ancient business firms. From 
no man whose integrity stood unimpeached, in distress, did I 
ever turn away . 

Hub. (rising abruptly.) — From distress never turned away ! 
never! never! Sir John Fitz Simmons. (Sits down.) 

Sir Fitz. Never, sir, never! so help me God! 

Hub. Ah! Then I will give you time— on one condition: 
You shall report to me in person every day at this time and 
place, and submit to my inspection a bona fide summary of your 
business transactions of the preceding day. 1 bind myself to 
nothing. 

Sir Fitz. The condition is humiliating. ( Violently agitated.) 
Let me live, sir. I say, let me live. Life is honor: dishonor is 
death. Let me live. 

Hub. Let you live! and I — ergo — meet my recompense in 
Potter's Field. 

Siu Fitz (leaning his body toward Hubert.) Potter's Field! 
Potter's Field! "What do you mean, I pray you ? 

Hub. The meet recompense of him that giveth to the 
rich. The recipient is entombed in Norwood, and the giver 
makes his grave with paupers. No, no, my lord, you have my 
ultimatum; in three days Sir John is announced in bankruptcy. 

Sir Fitz (mechanically to himself.) In three days. In three 
days advertised in dishonor! (Looking at Hubert steadfastly.) I 
had a son, an only child. How proud I was of my boy, and 



potter's field. 81 

what fair expectations- did I not build upon him! In the sun- 
shine of creature-worship he grew up to man's estate; and, he, 
the idol, pronounced the divorce between the god and the wor- 
shiper. I had to forego prayer, communion, and sacrifice. O, 
what an ordeal was this! and — now — in hoary age — bereaved of 
my good name — I have nothing more to live for. I will arise 
and go. (Calling his attendants,) Dobbin! Matthew! Dennys! 
( Tn his agitation he makes an effort to rise and falls to the floor.) 

Hdb. (rises j rom his chair, and his arms folded on his breast, 
stands before the prostrate form of his father, and ironically;) Is 
my lord quite down? Fie! should a veteran take to spoiled chil- 
dren's humors when the conflict is raging ? My lord had better 
be taken home that my lady may have him put to bed with an 
ojriate potation — an herb calming to the fears of the morrow and 
a dishonored name! (Sounds the alarm.) Methinks I hear the 
ambulance. 'Tis not good to lie on the belly when one is liars 
de combat. (Enter attendants with sedan.) Take your master 
from the carnage and care for him tenderly. ( The attendants yet 
the old man in the sedan.) Give him air. Give him plenty air, I 
charge you. Air costs nothing, and, in it, the man that can't 
pay hath equal portion with him that can. And now, Dennys, 
and Matthew, and Dobbin, money is royalty, you know: step 
backward, my boys; this is court etiquette; backward — take my 
lord backward! 

[Exeunt attendants, backward.] 

Scene II. — A thoroughfare in London. Newsboys crying 
their " extras." Citizens going and coming. 

\_Enter two citizens highly excited. ] 

1st Citizen (To 2d citizen.) Have you heard of the disaster, 
sir? 

2d Cit. Just from there. The lifeguards are annihilated; 
the West End is in a blaze; blood is in the air. Let every 
peaceable citizen repair to his own house. (Exit 2d Cit.) 

1st Cit. (solo log. and in mental distress.) Three good miles 
from 'ome and blood in the hair! (To 3d citizen, entering.) 
Whence are you, sir ? 

3d Cit. From St. Paul's. 

1st Cit. Have you got the news ? 

3d Cit. I believe I ain't got one 'alf that's to be told. 

1st Cit. Let me 'ear, I pray yon. 

3d Cit. Westminster has been blowed 'igh beyond the earth's 
attraction. The royal family have fled. And, ruy Lord Mayor 
is missing. 

1st Cit. (to 4dh Cit. entering.) 'Alio, sir. The Thames is on 
fire ; the Prince of Wales is impaled ; and my Lord Mayor is 
muled down to his own roof, they say. 



82 potter's field. 

4th Cit. And I say, that every tongue that uttereth falsehood 
should be nailed to the roof of the mouth. 

1st Citv What am I to credit? 

4th Cit. Just what you hanker for. I know of what I speak. 
I was in Cheapside where the emeute happened. I saw — 

1st Cit. An emeute, sir? 

4th Cit. And a dastardly insult it was to the Queen, sir. 
Just as the pageant was nearing the turn in Cheapside, a cloth, 
with the words inscribed, " God save the poor,'' was unfurled to 
the breeze. The police, seeing the outrage, very properly in- 
terposed and seized the banner. In the melee which ensued, a 
firearm was discharged, which took effect in the shoulder of a 
girl, who was at the time riding in the car of the Merchants' 
guild. Morino is ringleader, but has thus far eluded arrest. 

1st Cit. Morino of Drury Lane Theatre ? 

4th Cit. It may be he . 

1st Cit. And he nailed the Lord Mayor to-- 

4th Cit. No, sir; I say he did not. 

1st Cit. Who did ? 

4th Cit. Rumor, sir. 

1st Cit. Is he arrested? 

4th Cit. She is at large, sir. (Exit.) 

1st Cit. (solo loq.) When, in the hour of peril, the country 
calls, it is one of the sacred obligations of the citizen (newsboy 
passing) to keep himself posted. (To neicsboy.) 'Alio there, 
w-hat's the bill of fare? 

Newsboy. Third edition. The Lord Mayor's disaster. The 
financial crisis. Famine in Ireland. Insurrection in WaUjS. 
Bread Riot in Manchester. Confusion everywhere. All for one 
penny ! 

1st Cit. (with evident satis faction) Prodigious! (Pays his 
money and takes the extra. Exuent all.) 

Scene III. — Parlor at the Fitz Simmons mansion. 

Present. — In the foreground Nellie, in an easy-chair, asleep, 
and supported by pillows, Drusilla standing behind. In the 
background, Lady Fitz Simmons reclining on a sofa, and Miss 
Mack attending on her, with smelling salts, etc. At the side, in 
the foreground, two physicians in consultation. 

First Phvsician. (Interlocking his hands, and bringing his 
index finger to his nose.) Should she live till the tide— 

Second do. (rubbing his palms together) The patient is quite 
comfortable. 

1st do. Symptoms will become more decided. 

2d do. Cases more hopeless recover. 

1st do. All is conjecture at the best. 

2d do. I give the patient the benefit of every doubt. 



potter's field. 83 

1st do. The wound is usually mortal. Suffocation will result 
of the internal hemorrhage. 

2d do. She breathes quite comfortably. 

1st do. I give her thirty minutes to live. 

2d do. I never say "die." 

Drusilla [goes over to speak to the physicians). Pardon me, 
doctors, but please tell me, will Nellie live? , 

2d Pht. Doing splendidly, miss, splendidly; no cause for 
alarm . 

Drusila (to 1st physician) . What think you, sir? 

1st Phy. (shrugging his head.) The situation is critical. 

Dbosilla. Then, she might die. Gentlemen, tell me, is 
there positive danger? 

2d Phy. Not in the least, dear lady. The patient is rational; 
a strong pulse ; doing charmingly. 

1st Phy. We have to go. Let me enjoin you to see that no 
one but the nurse be permitted to your father's room. 

Dru. Is he so sick as that ? 

1st Phy. A sudden emotion might kill him. He is very low. 

2d Phy. Doing lovely. Should any change occur, have us 
notified directly. [Exxierd physicians.'] 

Nellie (waking). I have been sleeping. Has my papa 
come? 

Dr.u. Godfrey went on the errand. He will return with your 
papa presently. 

Nellie. I am so glnd at his coming. When I am dead, he 
will be better for my sake. Don't you think so, Drusilla? 

Dru. My pet will not die ; the physicians say that Nellie is 
getting along. 

Nellie. I care not to stay. Drusilla, there is hate in the 
world ; let me die for a love-offering. 

Dru. I hear steps upon the stairs. 

Nellie. O, please do see if it is my papa. 

[Enters Hubert, accompanied by Godfrey.'] 

Hubert (kneeling down at Nellie's feet.) Nellie. Nellie! Do you 
know me, Nellie? 

Nellie (in a faint voice.) Commodore Fitz Simmons — no — 
not Commodore — my own papa. I am so glad you have come: 
why do you act so strangely? 

Hub. My own sweet darling! 

Nellie. Papa, I am going to mama, soon. When I am dead 
bury me in — Norwood — where mama is. 

Hub. In Potter's Field, Nellie! 

Lady Fitz S. My smelling bottle! (Great hurry and ftury from 
Miss Mack.) 

Nellie. Mama is in Norwood; grand-pa and aunty buried 
her there. 



84 potter's field. 

Hub. {rising, and with much emotion addressing Drusilla.) You 
buried Marguerite in Norwood? 

Deu. We did. 

Hub. Where is my father? 

Deu. Where the wicked cease from troubling. 

Hub. I must speak to my father — is he yet alive? Oh, look 
not so at me! — Speak, is my father yet alive? (Drusilla weeps.) 
My father dead! Oh, no, no! Let me ask my father's forgive- 
ness! (Rushes to and fro, frantically.) Take ne my to father, that 
I may throw myself at his feet. (To Lady Fitz S.) Dp you love 
money, madam? — do you love gold? — I will make you rich be- 
yond desire, only that I may sue for my father's forgiveness. 

Lady Fitz. My smelling bottle! 

Deu. You cannot see Sir Fitz Simmons. Keep your mil- 
lions. — Gloat in your triumph and our ruin. 

Godfrey (watching Nellie im her last agonies.) She is dying! 

[ They gather round the dying girl. Lady F. supported by Miss 
Mack, j 

[Enters Grospolrine.] 

Geospoteine. Sir Fitz Simmons is dead! 

Scene IV, (same as Scene III, in Act III.) 

Estella (solo loq., peering through the key-hole.) Hubert is not 
in his apartment. The first time that I have known him to 
sleep out. I would give my prettiest bouquet for a peep at the 
attraction that keeps him for once from his foolscap and his 
slumbers. I wonder if Stradella might not; the pertintrigaunte! 
Pshaw, what would such a man as he, care for an every day 
conquest? It ain't she. Peradventure a duchess, — no, he hates 
aristocracy, Well, can't a man be out of a night without the 
inevitable woman being at the bottom? I believe he likes me. 
(Sighs.) Happier would I be if I could say, "He loves me." 
Hubert is my ideal of a man: He may be terrible, but he is not 
mean; he may make tragedy of a woman's love, but not a farce. 
Ah! that's he! That's his step on the stairway. I feel better. 
No — not he; some one at my door! (iShe opens the door, and enters 
Morino, closely muffled. Estella shrieks with affright.) 

Moeino. Estella, it is I, Morino, do not fear. The police are 
on my scent. For heaven's sake, conceal me. 

Estella. Morino! Well, if I didn't think it was a brigand of 
blackest deed. What have you done that's wicked, and how 
did you find my lodgings ? 

Mokino. On the register at Drury Lane I discovered where 
you lived; but never mind, hide me. 

Est. I can't hide a man in my bed-room. Just think of the 
situation. 

Moeino. My life is in peril. You can save me. 



potter's field. 85 

Est. And I will. {Reflecting for a moment.) You wouldn't 
mind double lodgings, would you? 

Mokino . With } ou? 

Est. Oh, Lord, no! not with me. — With a gentleman. 

Mokino. But I must be seen of no one but you. 

Est. I understand that. Come along. ( They pass out into 
the adjoining apartment.) This is the room of a very quiet gen- 
tleman. He is never in but at night. Here is a cloth-press he 
never looks into; I have carried the key myself for the last six 
months. It is my wardrobe. You get in and turn the key on 
yourself. (Gives him the key, and retires to her own apartment. 
Solo log.) That must be he: yes, that's Hubert. 

[Hubert enters his apartment; sits down, his head resting on the 
table; rises, goes to Esttlla's door and raps. - ] 

Hub. Estella, I would speak with you a moment. 

Est. (re-enters Hubert's apartment, and taking both his hands 
in hen ) Mercy! Hubert, what's the matter? 

Hub. Nothing, — never mind. 

Est. Shall I call in a doctor? 

Hub. No. I have no faith in his medicine. I shall feel bet- 
ter presently. 

Est. Your head aches? Let me wet a handkeix-hief in cologne . 
(Runs out into her room, and returns ; is about applying the cologne 
to his forehead. ) 

Hub. (taking the handkerchief out of her ha>tds, and laying it on 
the table). No, let it alone. Nature's cures are wonderful, and 
mountebanks get the praise. Can you keep a secret? 

Est. Truly can I; and most truly — your's. 

Hub. Never tell any one that I say, "Nature is cheated by 
human art." 

Est. That is not what you had to say. (Sadly.) You don't 
trust me. 

Hub. That is a secret what very few know, else, would 
physicians prescribe Nature's medicaments; pure air, and a 
serene conscience, not closed windows and murderous drugs. I 
want to hire your lodging to-night. That is the secret. 

Est. And me for your lady of the bed chamber? 

Hub. I expect a distinguished visitor. Your appointments 
are more genteel than mine. 

Est. I will change rooms with you. 

Hub. No, that will not answer. I need yours and mine. 

Est. A lady visitor? 

Hub. A secret should not be questioned. 

Est. Shall I return in the morning? 

Hub. If you choose. 

Est. Hubert, you frighten me. Tell me once what is the 
matter? 



86 pottek's field. 

Hub. "Will you consent? 

Est. To what? 

Hub. Give me your key, and go. 

Est. (looking toward the cloth-press) . Must I? 

Hub. You should to oblige me. 

Est. Can't I oblige you in any other way? 

Hub. Not that I kriow. 

Est. (Always looking toward the cloth-press.) Let me stay with 
you till your visitor come; I will slip out without seeing or being 
seen. Let me stay. 

Hub. No need of your staying. 

Est. I am afraid. 

Hub. Of what? 

Est. To leave you alone. 

Hub. Were you not alone when I came? What has happened 
you; what can happen me? 

Est. Promise to open to me early in the morning. 

Hub. I will. (Estella gives Hubert her key, and moves away.) 
Wait a moment; I forgot something. (Sits to the table, torites,and 
hands her the note). Here is jour compensation. 

Est. I don't want pay. 

Hub. (insisting). Take it, I say. I have sinned enough 
against charity. To-morrow, present this at the bank, and the 
cashier will know it. 

Est. Give it me in the morning. 

Hub. I shall have other things to attend to in the morning, 
and it may escape my mind. 

Est. (sadly). Hubert, I shall not see you to-morrow. 

Hub. Will you be a good girl till you see me again? (He has 
risen, ami drawing her in his embrace, kisses her.) Now, go. Do 
not tarry. Breathe not a word. (Exit Estella.) 

[Hubert locks the door; turns the picture to the wall; draws up a 
chair and sits down in it.} 

Hubert (solo loq.) Thus it is with man: He is strong: he 
glories in his prowess; he measures his stature with the cedars 
that grow on the mountains; he lays his plans on the founda- 
tions of the everlasting hills. He says, "Aha ! the earth shall 
not quake: my work will endure forever" — and a dying girl 
whispers (his voice falt»rs) , "Papa, when I am dead, bury me in 
Norwood where mamma is " and he, the strong man— (rests his 
head on his hand. After a pause:) Nature, thou considerest not 
man. Thou permittest him to pursue the ways of his folly; 
thou puttest breath in the mouth of a child and he is con- 
tounded. The motive of my life beats against my brain, as 
when a ship in the lull after a cyclone beats her sails against the 
mast. No hate to live for and no love for me to die. An exist- 
ence wasted in a vain conceit, thinking that mortal moments of 



potter's field. 87 

hatred and malice would solve the conflict of centuries and set 
the wisdom of ages at naught. Aud now a desert spreads out 
before me, the barrenness of which I cannot endure and which I 
must tread alone. (Looks at his watch.) It is twelve-forty of 
the watch. A few more ticks of time and this heart will have 
ceased beating forever. (Lays Ids watch on the table; takes out a 
pistol from a side-pocket and lays it down also. Then rises and 
paces the floor.) Nature hath not banished Mercy. When the 
unspent sands of life become burdensome to him that lugs them, 
a pit opens wide wherein he may fling self, burden, and the 
remembrance. The pit — the pit is the thorough leveler. For 
an eternity, underneath head-board or mausoleum, the identical 
adipocere declares ail men near relatives. 

( Morino has noiselessly come out of his hiding place, and, as Hu- 
bert, who has reached the lower end of the room, turns, the two men 
stand facing each other. The town clock strikes one.) 

Morino. Did you not hear it ? The hour is meet for the last 
expired breath of fate, borne on the wings of the bat, to course 
its downward flight to perpetual shades. Here (taking up the 
jjistol) is action. Do you flinch ? Come and take this. 

Hubert. Morino! 

Morino. Aye, the school-master of Willow-Brook. 

Hubert. Morino! 

Moeino. A child has been murdered: they say that I have 
done the deed — 'tis false — and I must die, but — I shall not die 
alone. Come and take this medicine, I say, and don't make 
mouths at it. (Holds out the pistol to Hubert.) Shall I carry it 
to you. ? (He carries it to Hubert, who takes it from him. Morino 
retires to the table. After a moment's suspense, Hubert draws the 
hammer, takes a deliberate aim at Morino, fires, but the cap atone 
explodes.) Hangs fire! Powder wet. Try this, Commodore. 
(Morino throws a dirk id Hubert, Spanish fashion. The blade 
strikes Hubert to the heart and he falls without a struggle.) 

Scene V. (Spectacular.) Boa-constrictors crawl from out of 
the side-scene upon the stage, where they coil and uncoil them- 
selves. Several alligators come up from out of the lake, seen in 
the background. An angel touchs the reptiles with a wand and 
a grand transformation takes place. The snakes break up into 
rings and the alligators separate fore and after, and from each 
division appears an angel. 

[Grand March of the Angels.~\ 



The End. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

016 102 438 7 # 



